


Intricacies

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, BAMF Clarice Starling, Clarice Starling is not taking anyone’s bullshit, Dark Will Graham, Dr. Frederick Chilton Lives, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal Lecter Being an Asshole, Hannibal Lecter Misses Will Graham, Jack Crawford needs a break, M/M, POV Clarice Starling, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Will and Hannibal in the asylum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-04-12 08:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19128142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Nearly a decade after the death of Dolarhyde the BAU is pushed to their breaking point after the emergence of a new killer. Jack Crawford and Bedelia Du Maurier go against their better judgement and send Trainee Agent Clarice Starling to make a deal with the devils of  Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bedelia and Jack offer Clarice an unfortunate assignment.

The air conditioning in the head of Behavioral Science’s office is on full blast. Clarice Starling shivers. She came straight from her morning jog and is still not used to the cold. Clarice is sitting in a rather comfortable plush chair directly across from Jack Crawford. Crawford looks exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes only drawing more attention to the wrinkles that have begun to form along the lines of his weathered face. _He’s old enough to have been gone from all of this long ago._ Shethinks, _haunted enough too._

 

Bedelia is a different story entirely. The psychiatrists face is done up, in elegant shades of cream and light blue. She wears a serene smile and a loose low hanging bun. There are rumors spread in hushed whispers between the other trainees at the academy that she’s had every dress she owns specially tailored to better exhibit the prosthetic that replaced her stolen left leg. Today Clarice can see the gleaming flashes of silver beneath her blue and white color block dress. Bedelia looks at her curiously. Under her gaze Clarice is intensely aware of the myriad of sweat stains on the underarms of her FBI sweatshirt. She averts her eyes. 

 

 

“Starling. Clarice. Good morning.” Jack frowns, sounding like it’s anything but.

 

 

“Good morning Mr. Crawford.” She grins back, polite in her slight southern drawl.

 

 

 “Your teachers say you’re doing really well.” He musters a small smile. “Top quarter of your class.” He continues shuffling idly through a stack of papers on his crowded desk. 

 

 

“I would hope so Mr. Crawford. I’ve been working my hardest.” 

 

 

“I’m sure you have Starling. I’m sure you have.” Crawford sounds conflicted even as praises her.

 

 

“Did I..do something sir?” She asks, still unsure why she’s been called to his office in the first place. 

 

 

“Not at all Starling. I’ve got an assignment. I’ve been keeping an eye on you and it seems like you’re someone I could use.” Clarice nods, eager to help. Behavioral science is a place she can see herself after graduation. It certainly won’t hurt to get her foot in the door now.

 

 

“I’ll take anything you have.” She assures him.

 

 

“We're trying to interview all of the serial killers now in custody. Would be a big help in unsolved cases. A lot of them are happy to talk. Big ego boost and all that, especially if they’ve been rotting away in dark corners. The two we need the most though? The ones we know could really do some good? They’re refusing to say anything. I don’t get the feeling you scare easily Starling.”

 

 

”Who are the subjects?” She asks, dread already pooling in the pit of her stomach.

 

 

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter and his _husband_ Will Graham.” It’s the first time Bedelia speaks, voice honey smooth and unconcerned. “They helped catch almost a dozen of their own kind while working in this unit. We are making a last ditch effort to see if either will do the same now.”

 

 

“The cannibals who hid in the FBI...” Neither Jack Crawford  or Bedelia respond. They just study her face and wait for a more definite reaction. Clarice sets her jaw. “I’ll do it. Of course. “I’m glad for the chance. If I can speak freely though.....Why me?” 

 

 

Jack sighs. “That’s a question I’ve asked myself. You’re available. Qualified. And to be honest Starling? With the hounding we’re getting from the media about the Bill case the Bureau can’t spare any Agents right now.”

 

 

“Not that there’s many they haven’t already sent running with their tails between their legs.” Bedelia reminds Crawford, idly flicking away a piece of lint that has landed on her prosthetic. 

 

 

“Listen Starling. We don’t expect them opening up. We just need to be able to say we’ve tried. You’ll be lucky if Graham speaks more than two words to you. And Lecter was a top notch psychiatrist. He knows all the usual dodges. 

 

 

“Information packet on them, copy of our questionnaire. It’s got some information on the case, most of its publicized. Have them get what they can from this. We’ll send you with something more detailed if you get to that point. There’s also a  temporary ID for you.” Crawford slides her a crisp manila envelope, packed to the brim with papers,  across the table. “If they won't talk, then I want straight reporting.” He continues.

 

 

“How do they look, how do their cells look, what's Hannibal drawing, what’s Will crafting.” Bedelia interjects.

 

 

“The Director himself will see your signature - if I think it's good enough. I want the report by eight o’clock Wednesday, and I want this quiet. We need you to keep this to yourself.” Crawford finishes.

 

 

“Jack’s very concerned about sending a trainee in.” Bedelia tells her. “Hannibal doesn’t have a very good track record with them. I told him that it might make Will angry. And that’s our best shot at getting Graham to talk. Hannibal will probably speak to you. But the words will be empty, roundabouts, metaphorical _bullshit_ if you will.” She laughs dryly. 

 

 

“I made the mistake of letting Will Graham get too wrapped up in the bullshit. You won’t have the same problem. After each visit you will attend a mandatory session with Dr. Du Maurier. She’ll be the one to monitor your mental state and if she thinks you’re getting too close? I’ll pull you out immediately and put you on paid leave.” 

 

 

“As you know I’m _personally_ familiar with     their case.” Bedelia runs a hand over her metal leg to prove her point. “Which is why Jack chose me. I can recognize the warning signs. Let’s hope you don’t have any.” 

 

 

“Starling I want you to give me your full attention.” Jack grabs her wrist. “Be very careful with them.  Dr. Chilton at the asylum will go over the physical procedures used. Do _not_ deviate from it, for _any_ reason. You tell them nothing personal, Starling. Believe me, you don't want these men crawling around inside your head... Just do your job, but never forget what they are.”

 

 

She nods gravely. “I won’t.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and constructive cristisism is much appreciated! :))


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarice visits with Will in the private ward and later with Hannibal in the general cells.

Clarice sits in the tastefully decorated waiting room of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Currently she’s flipping through the case file Crawford provided her. The contents are ghastly, not that she expected anything less. 

 

 

Lecters section is longer, three inches thick if she had to guess. There’s no way she’ll get through it in its entirety while waiting. So Clarice turns to Grahams instead, studying the mutilated body of Randall Tier proudly displayed on the skeleton of a saber tooth tiger. There are frequent arguement among law enforcement and fan forums of who counts as Will Graham’s true first victim. Purists insist on Garrett Jacob Hobbs, pointing to the overkill as evidence. Clarice doesn’t agree. Some start at Francis Dolarhyde, the couples first joint kill. Others still the first victim they’d discovered a few months after Lecter and Graham has gone on the run together, a poacher with all his skin missing. Most, including the dossier, start counting with Randall Tier. 

 

 

She is in the middle of reading an attached Tattlecrime article about the recovery of the men’s marriage license when an orderly taps her on the shoulder. Clarice doesn’t  flinch, but she quickly closes the folder to protect the orderly’s eyes.

 

 

”Dr Chilton will see you now.” 

 

 

The chairman of the Baltimore asylum doesn’t offer her a chair when she walks into his office. Clarice stands, vaguely uncomfortable.  He stays seated and watches her from behind folded palms as she explains her reasoning for the visit.

 

 

“The first time we captured him, the psychiatric community thought him a pure phycopath. Someone _incapable_ or remorse or emotions like love, kindness, fear a shell of a person really-” 

 

 

”I know what a psychopath is Dr. Chilton.” Clarice folds her arms irritably and waits for him to get to the point.

 

 

“Well _obviously_ we had to reevaluate the diagnosis after his connection with Will Graham was exposed. He insists it’s love, Graham insists its love, most of the psychiatric community insists it’s love or a fascimile so indistinguishable the difference doesn’t really matter. Personally I think it’s more of a obsession _bizarrely_ gone sexual. But as so many of my other opinions, that one is not popular.” He sighs.

 

 

“I’m far more interested in Graham these days. What could make someone fall as far as he has! I often wonder if Lecter is jealous of the lack of time I spend with him. He imagined me his nemesis the first time I had him here you know!” Chilton looks up at Clarice. “If I may say Miss Starling, we’ve had so many detectives here... and I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of coming across one as _lovely_ as you. 

 

 

Clarice takes a good look at the showbird of a man seated beneath her. He’s had major reconstructive surgery since the  unfortunate encounter with Francis Dolarhyde. He’s attractive enough, if you’re into that kind of thing, especially if you don’t look too closely. To her his face falls into an uncanny valley. Something is off, the skin pulled too taut around the edges, or the cheeks unnaturally full. Clarice isn’t sure what it is exactly. It’s almost as unnerving as his personally.

 

 

“It’s _Agent_ actually. Not Miss.” Clarice says taking advantage of the temporary status Crawford’s given her. “And I’d like to see Graham now.” 

 

 

“Alright fine then.” His face sours. “I’m a very busy man _Miss_ Starling so if you’ll just follow me.” Clarice ignores the petty jab and follow him out of his office and to the series of steel doors that lead to the isolation ward.

 

 

”We’ve added two new failsafes since Lecter escaped last time.” He brags. “They were on the run for _seven_ years. Slippery. Only caught because of Lecter’s heart attack. Which was an act of god if you ask me.” Chilton smirks. “Graham stayed with him at the hospital even after it was clear the staff knew who they were. That’s one of the strongest points people use to point to their love. Utter devotion to the point of capture.” Chilton rolls his eyes still sounding unconvinced. “Anyways if they ever escape it’s doubtful we’ll get them back again. So we don’t take any chances. And I assume you won’t either. They walk to the middle of an anteroom where a beefy orderly is watching a black and white monitor of Graham’s cell. “Do not reach towards the plexiglass, do not touch the plexiglass. You pass him nothing but soft paper no pens or pencils. No staples or paperclips in his paper. Use the sliding food carrier, no exceptions. Do not accept anything he attempts to hold out to you. Do you understand me?” Chilton asks her as he turns on his heels and prepares to leave. 

 

 

“Perfectly Dr. Chilton.” She smirks sweetly back, guiltily enjoying the way he twitches at her patronizing tone.

 

 

“We hold Lecter in the maximum security wing of general confinement. Barney will walk you there after you’re through with Graham.” He tells her. And then [thankfully] Chilton is gone.

 

 

“Hi there. I’m Barney.” The orderly holds out a friendly hand and Clarice accepts it gratefully thankful for the genuine kindness she can sense in the man. “I like your dress.” He continues after a moments hesitation.   
  
  
  
  
“Clarice. Thanks.” She laughs. Clarice is wearing a long sleeved bright yellow checkered dress with an attached suit jacket. When her roommate Ardelia had told she looked like she’d come straight out of the 80’s version of Heather’s Clarice had smiled cryptically and told her friend that she might need to channel some “mythic bitch” energy today anyways. 

 

 

“Whatever you say McNamara.” Ardelia had teased. 

 

 

“Are you nervous?” Barney asks her.

 

 

”I think any sane person would be. Getting ready to speak to a man like this one.” She answers walking towards the door that leads out to the cell.

 

 

”Good point Agent.” He points to the overhead monitor. “I keep the sound off out of courtesy but I can see y’all just fine. If anything goes wrong I’ll be there in a snap.”

 

 

“Thank you.” Clarice waves goodbye and steps inside. 

 

 

The silence is deafening. The hum of the busy asylum that was easily distinguishable even in the anteroom is gone. She wonders if the cell is soundproof. Clarice supposes there would probably be good reasoning for that. Will Graham is laying on the cot in the corner. He looks asleep, his dark curls fanned out around his head in a sort of halo. According to the file, he’s being housed in the same cell his husband had occupied during his first stay. Clarice plants herself far away from the cell, back pressed against the crown molding.

 

 

“Mr. Graham?” Clarice tries. His eyes stay closed but there’s a flicker of movement behind them. He knows she’s there.  

 

 

“Mr Graham?” Still silence.

 

 

”Mr Graham?” She repeats a third time and he groans in defeat. 

 

 

“Go away.” 

 

 

“I won’t. Not until you do something for me.” 

 

 

“You’ll be waiting a long time then. I’m not cooperative. It’s in the file they gave you at the front. First paragraph of the third page. Look it over again if you don’t believe me.” He yawns.

 

 

“Mr. Graham I have a questionnaire for you. I’m looking for your insight on a profile. If you’d be so kind as to fill it out for me I would be very grateful. It wouldn’t take more than five minutes of your time today. Then I’ll let your sleep.” He doesn’t say a word for nearly twenty minutes. Clarice counts the seconds in her head taking the time to stare awkwardly around the mostly empty cell. She wonders how many other visitors he’s pulled this trick with. It won’t work with her. Her time spent at Quantico has taught Clarice not to fold easily.

 

 

“Are you going to leave?” He answers finally. “I would _really_ like it if you left.” 

 

 

“No. I’ll stay right here for now Mr. Graham.” 

 

 

“I’m not sleeping.” He answers finally  eyes still screwed shut. “I get more than enough time to do that here.” He sounds bored and bone tired. 

 

 

“You sound exhausted for someone who gets a lot of sleep.” She points out. 

 

 

“Hmm. I told you I _get_ more than enough time to sleep here. Not that I _use_ that time. I haven’t slept a wink in six days.” 

 

 

“Why?” 

 

 

“Why not? It’s like playing Russian roulette and I’m not interested. I have horrible nightmares. And they’ve made sure the one person who keeps them away isn’t here to shield me from them.” He tells her bitterly. “Don’t worry. When my lack of sleep gets to a certain point Chilton will send Barney in here to shove the sedatives down my gullet. And I’ll sleep like a log. Dreamless.”

 

 

”Are you going to fill out my questionnaire Mr. Graham?” 

 

 

“I’m not remotely interested in doing that.”

 

 

“Alright then. I’ll move on to your husband then.” Her remark is what finally  makes the man open his eyes, a strange expression on his face at the very mention of Hannibal. Will Graham has  piercing eyes. Bright blue. He gives her a once over more thoroughly than Chilton had. With Graham Clarice isn’t bothered. The context is far from sexual. He stands from his cot, stretches and walks to the table closest to the Plexiglass on top of which is a collection of plastic fishing lures. He watches her almost the entire time eyes only flicking away when she raises her own to meet his.

 

 

“Are you a journalist? Or just a plucky PHD candidate? Not too many people decide to try for both of us in the same day. I’m told we can be overwhelming” He explains the barest hint of humor in his voice. 

 

 

“Neither. I work for the FBI.” 

 

 

“That dress threw me off I think. I suppose they wanted you in plainclothes so you wouldn’t draw attention. Freddy Lounds is like a freaking bloodhound. She’s banned from visiting me of course, Jack gives me that small mercy. I know she’s paying someone under the table to get my visitors list. I don’t subscribe to tattlecrime but Barney tells me secondhand information sells almost as well.” 

 

 

Clarice nods. “Everyone hates her. Half the FBI has restraining orders on her at this point.” 

 

 

“That much hasn’t changed. What department?” Will asks fussing with the end of a unfinished lure.

 

 

“Behavioral analysis.” Clarice pauses and remembers Bedelias advice. “Hopefully. Once I graduate from the academy anyways.”

 

 

“Youre just a trainee.” Will’s frown deepens. “Jack sent us a goddamn _trainee_?” 

 

 

“I’m more than qualified for this.” Clarice retorts, not sure where the defensive tone of her voice is coming from. “Even if you could do something from behin all that glass I’m second in my class at marksmanship. Fifth in hand to hand combat.” 

 

 

“What’s your name?” The anger Bedelia had warned her of is nowhere to be found. For now the only thing she notices in Graham is a deep sense of melancholy.

 

 

”Mr. Graham.” She leaves the safety of the wall and takes slow measured steps as she approaches the food slot. “Please complete this questionnaire it would be a big-”

 

 

”Your name?” He repeats. 

 

 

“It’s Starling. Agent Clarice Starling.” 

 

 

“Listen to me Starling.” Graham begins quietly but his volume rises as he continues. “I will _not_ be complicit in the corruption of a perfectly good trainee. My Hannibal will have no such qualms. You’ve got guts Starling. Hannibal will spill them all over the goddamn floor of the General wing. He doesn’t need to be able to touch you to hurt you. March your ambitious ass out to Barney and then have him walk you right out those asylum doors. Never look back. That’s my advice. There’s better ways to get a foot in the door at the BAU. Lots of people have been caught in Hannibals webs. Very few make it out alive. _None_ leave unscathed.” 

 

 

“Mr. Graham if you would just consider doing the questionnaire.” 

 

 

“I’m not doing your questionnaire.” He replies, full of quiet anger. He rises from his chair and returns to the cot facing as far away from her as possible. 

 

 

“I really think-“ 

 

 

“Get the fuck out.” She backs away from the plexiglass. He doesn’t turn around until he hears the heavy slam of the exit door. 

 

 

“You were in there for twenty five minutes!” Barney holds up his watch. “No one was talking for eighteen of those minutes but holy hell! You just set a new record!” 

 

 

Clarice smiles weakly at the eager orderly as they stroll through the halls of the asylum to the general wing. She tries her best to remain steadfast. There’s no denying her visit with Graham has left her shaken. And shaken is not an acceptable thing to be in Clarice’s day to day life. Let alone a visit with Hannibal Lecter. She takes a deep breath and composes herself.

 

 

“He’s in the second to last cell on the left.  We don’t keep anyone on either side of him.” Barney explains once they’ve made it to general. “Chilton used to shove them in  but after the fifth suicide inquiry.... he wised up.” Barney painstakingly punches in the mile long access code to the maximum security wing. This time she enters into a place far from silent. The sounds of the men inside echo screams and screeches and low, keening, animal like, howls.

 

 

“I set up a folding chair for you. Earlier today.” Barney rubs his head, looking sheepish. “Hannibal knows someone’s coming to visit. He’ll be waiting for you.”

 

 

Clarice nods and begins her journey down the long hallway. Some cells are padded, but most are normal jail house. It’s clear the high tech updates haven’t made their way to the common folk of the Baltimore Hospital yet. She’s walking past the last occupied cell before Lecter’s when a wiry looking shadow of a man jumps out of the shadows of his cell grotesquely mashing his face between the bars. 

 

 

“I can smell your CUNT!” He shrieks. Caught off guard, Clarice takes a small step backwards. 

 

 

“You really mustn’t be so uncouth to the company Miggs!” A voice rings out. “We get so little of it as of late.” The man speaking has a heavy accent and a pleasantly sophisticated tone. _Lecter._

 

 

She passes the unused cell and comes upon the doctor sketching at his bolted down table. The walls around him are filled with drawings. Some are of the landscape of famous European cities done in charcoal and crayon. Others are watercolors depicting scenes from an unfamilar countryside. The vast majority are of the man she’s just given up on interviewing, done in every medium you can imagine. Even the ones entirely in black and white never fail to capture the life in Will Graham’s eyes.

 

 

“Good afternoon.” The Doctor looks up from his drawing and adjusts the collar of his prison blues as if they’re a well tailored suit. He’s sharp and alert, his hair gone almost entirely gray. He was in his early fifties when he’d escaped. He must be pushing sixty now. He doesn’t look it. “I think it must be afternoon. Although it’s a little hard to tell without clocks. You must excuse Miggs. He’s quite classically insane.” Lecter smiles apologetically. “In exchange I will excuse that garish dress of yours. Unless I have entered a time slip, that outfit does not belong in this century.” 

 

 

“You shouldn’t be rude to your visitor .” Clarice turns up her nose. “Especially when you get so few lately.”  

 

 

“Touché.” Lecter cocks his head. “That _was_ rather rude of me. And I despise rudeness in others. Let us start fresh.” Clarice nods and settles into the folding chair Barney provided.

 

 

”Doctor Lecter we have a problem. We  hope that you might fill out a questionnaire and lend your services to help craft a profile?”

 

 

” _We_? I assume you mean the behavioral science division of the FBI. Are you   _Jack’s_ newest darling? Or just Quanticos?” Lecter smiles innocently at the insinuation. 

 

 

“Just Quanticos.” Clarice answers, not missing a beat. He looks pleased. 

 

 

“You’re here to consult with me on the Buffalo Bill case. You should be warned that the last person who consulted me on a case wound up in a cell not so unlike this one. Do you think you’ll find yourself here too? There will be room not so far down the hallway once Miggs is removed.” He offers. 

 

 

“That won’t be necessary Doctor Lecter.”

 

 

“Let me see those credentials.” Lecter waves her forward. 

 

 

“Come closer.” He requests. “My eyes are not what they once were.” She complies holding her badge far away from her face so he can read through the cell bars. 

 

 

“Clarice Starling.” He reads aloud taking time to pronounce every syllable. “I rather like the name. It’s been underused by new parents in the past few decades. Same as mine. Your credentials are fresh off the laminator.” Lecter smiles soothingly. “That coupled with the debately unprofessional dress..... You’re not a real Agent are you?” 

 

 

“You’re right Doctor. I’m still in training. But I will be. And I temporarily hold the same privileges and standing.”

 

 

”Hmm. A _trainee_. Dear Will will be so disappointed.” Lecter tsks. “Have you been to see my husband yet?” He prompts hungrily, the same strange lonely expression Clarice saw on Will just as apparent on Lecter. 

 

 

“Tell me _Clarice_. Is he well? I suspect he isn’t sleeping very much. They won’t let me help him. Won’t even mail my letters!” He points to a uneven stacks of papers beside his bed smiling sadly. “Jack has been terribly cruel to us. Do you want to know why Clarice? I think, deep down he believes my beloved will recover his mind if he is kept away from me long enough. Jack neglects to accept that he never lost it. The seeds for my loves becoming were planted long before we met. I only helped those wonderful flowers to flourish.”

 

 

“He told me he hasn’t slept in six days.” Clarice admits, feeling an unwelcome twinge of sympathy at the man’s pain. 

 

 

Doctor Lecter nods thoughtfully. “The Wendigo with it’s midnight black stag horns has risen from hell to torment Will once more.” Clarice raises an eyebrow, not having the slightest idea what he’s talking about. His first _bullshit_ _metaphor_ she decides, filing away the information for her report later. Lecter flares his nostrils and inhales, not bothering to hide the fact that he is smelling her. ”You use Evyan skin cream.” He notes. “Sometimes you wear L'Air du Temps, but not today Clarice. Today you’ve _drenched_ yourself in Irish Spring five-in-one. It accosts the nostrils with its banality. Usually you use white linen scented body wash. Which is a more pleasant base I wish you’d worn it today.”  

 

 

“I ran out of my body wash. My roommate loaned me hers. I like how it smells and I know for a fact it helped her snag girls before so I’m not alone in enjoying it.”

 

 

“Are you looking to snag a girl?” Doctor Lecter asks, passively curious.

 

 

“I’m not looking to snag anything but a few minutes of your time.” Clarice replies cooly. 

 

 

“No. No, that's boring and stupid! You were doing fine, you'd been polite  and receptive to courtesy, you'd established trust by telling me information about Will, and then you continue with an awful segue into your questionnaire, It simply won't do." 

 

 

“Did you do all of those drawings Doctor?”

 

 

“Yes The scenes are straight from my memory palace. Will, almost entirely. The places we traveled in our life together if he’s not present in the drawing. Does that seem like a purely _sexual_ obsession to you Clarice? I only ask because I know Doctor Chilton pushes his awful opinions on all my guests.” 

 

 

“It seems obsessive Doctor. But also caring. The eyes are very detailed.” 

 

 

“Eyes are the windows to the soul Clarice. That metaphor, while overused still rings true. You’re perceptive and honest. I enjoy honesty.” 

 

 

They’re interrupted by Barney who’s walking down the hallway with a tray full of greenery. He slides it across to Lecter. 

 

 

“ _Here’s_ lunch.” Lecter looks at the meal [a peanut butter sandwich, a sesame seed salad and some diced fruit], he seems displeased. “Thank you Barney. You can leave us now. I assure you Clarice is quite safe.” The orderly nods and lumbers away. 

 

 

“Rabbit food Clarice.” Lecter whispers when he’s long gone.

 

 

“I’m sorry?” 

 

 

“Chilton’s put me on an entirely vegetarian diet. Doctors orders after my heart attack. Of course, I know the real reason he’s taken meat off my menu. Chilton is _determined_ to make me suffer. To make good on all of his empty threats during the reign of Doctor Bloom. That is why I’m in general with these heathens after all. He’d take everything out of my cell, right down to the toilet seat if he didn’t have an agency breathing down his neck about humane care.” He laughs.

 

 

“Will you complete my questionnaire now Doctor?” Clarice asks.

 

 

”How many women has Bill taken so far Clarice? Five is it?” 

 

 

“Yes.” 

 

 

“All flayed if I’m not mistaken?” 

 

 

“Partially.”

 

 

“Tell me why they call him Buffalo Bill. I have my own suspicions but the newspapers never explain it.” 

 

 

“It was an awful joke.” Clarice prefaces “Started out in the cases original jurisdiction. Kansas City homicide. They said..this one likes to skin his humps.”

 

 

“Tasteless and incorrect.” Lecter frowns. “There’s no indication of sexual assault.  None that has been publicized anyways.” He amends “Why don’t you tell me why he really takes their skin Clarice? Impress me with your acumen and I’ll consider helping you.”

 

 

“It excites him.” She answers, going with the by the book explanation for trophies. “Serial killers take mementos from their victims. They’re often used to relive the murders.” 

 

 

“Will and I didn’t take trophies.” He counters. 

 

 

“Yes you did. You _ate_ yours. But you still took them. You fit into the profile just like anyone else Doctor Lecter. No matter how you two try to seperate yourselves.” There’s a tense beat and she wonders if she’s impressed him with her boldness. Then he smiles and it is immediately clear that she has not.

 

 

“You're awfully ambitious, aren't you Clarice? Terribly terribly _hungry_ for a little crumb of recognition.  You know what you look like to me, with your tacky dress? You look like a bumpkin. A puffed up bumpkin with the barest imitation of taste. I bet you picked up that monstrosity off the rack at some middle grade shop. JC Penny’s perhaps, and you thought _Now_ _this is something I would never have been able to afford growing up!_ And you bought it excitedly not even giving a thought to if it was out of season... Good nutrition has given you some length of bone, but you're  not more than one generation from poor white trailer trash, are you Clarice...?” She flinches and his eyes light up. Confident that he’s on the right track.  That amusing accent you're trying  so desperately to hide from me - _pure_ West Virginia. Did you live in a trailer park growing up? A nasty one with yellowing grass and a uneducated teenage mother who didn’t pay you any attention? Was your father in the picture? A coal miner that stank of kerosene and drank until he couldn’t stand? I’m _sure_ the boys were enamored by you! All those unenjoyable sticky fumblings, in the back seat of their dirty trucks. They must have fantasized about making you into the perfect housewife. Waiting at home with apple pie cooling on the windowsill. But not you Clarice oh no. _You_ could only dream of getting out. Doing what your podunk parents couldn’t. Because you’re _better_ than them. Getting anywhere - yes? Getting all the way to the  F...B...I. just so you can grovel at Crawford’s feet for a chance to prove yourself..”

 

 

Clarice squares her jaw defiantly refusing to give him leeway. “I’ve upset you haven’t I? You see a lot Doctor Lecter. I won’t deny that. I came here to find out if you and your husband would consider putting your perception to good use. It’s clear you aren’t interested. You’re right Doctor Lecter, I want to make a place for myself in this world. If you’re not going to help today then you’re only wasting my time. I won’t sit here and squirm just so you can get the satisfaction of watching.”

 

 

“My my you’re resilent. You remind me of my husband when I first met him! Thank you Clarice, for taking the edge off my boredom. I suppose you’ll be on your way back to school now little student Starling.”

 

 

”I’ll come back Doctor. Maybe you’ll be more inclined to help when I do.” She leaves the questionnaire on his tray. Unlike Will he watches her from his chair facing straight forward as she leaves. Soon Clarice is passing Miggs cell, giving it as wide a berth as she can without making her discomfort obvious to Lecter. 

 

 

“I bit my wrist so I can die!” The other inmate pants. “Watch how it _bleeds_!“ The man flings his pale palm at her and she is hit in the face with droplets of white that drip down the side of her cheek and into her hair. Clarice momentarily freezes  and then jumps into action rummaging through the purse she brought  for a spare napkin. 

 

 

“Miggs! I warned you. I told you Miggs that you must behave around our guests. Now look what you’ve done!” Hannibal chastises leaving his bed and walking to the farthest corner of the cell, the one closest to Clarice. She puts the napkin away and scowls at him. 

 

 

“Clarice.” He says softly as she shakes with rage. “I would not have had that happen to you. You understand, his actions are unspeakably ugly to me. He will be punished for them.”

 

 

“Make up for it. Complete the questionnaire. Familiarize yourself with the case. And help us catch the bastard.” 

 

 

“I’m afraid can’t do that yet Clarice. Not until we’ve discussed terms.” He grins. 

 

 

“Terms?” Clarice resumes wiping Miggs unsavory offering from her hair.

 

 

“Yes. Don’t worry. They will be favorable to me favorable to you _and_ favorable to Will. We’ll take care of that at our next meeting. Set one at your convienence but don’t wait too long. Bill will strike again.” Clarice turns around and starts walking. “Before you go on your way I will give you some help. Consider it a gesture of good faith.  Look inside yourself. Go to Split City. See Miss  Mofet, a patient of mine. M-O-F-E-T. I promise it will be worth your while. And Clarice.... I always keep my promises.”

 

 

When Barney opens the door and sees the state she’s in his kind face crumples. His arms are full of paper towels and antiseptic, probably gathered after he saw what happened on the monitor. 

 

 

“Here you go Agent.” He presses them into her hands. She takes the cleaning supplies to a dingy second floor bathroom and fixes her face under the fluorescent light. As she leaves the asylum she notices Chilton peering at her from behind the flower box in his office window. He gives her a small wave. Clarice doesn’t wave back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and constructive crisirism is much appreciated. :))


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarice has a session with Bedelia.

She parks her Chevy at the end of Bedelia Du Mauriers impossibly long driveway. Clarice climbs the wooden stairs to her doorstep and is surprised to find Bedelia already watching from the doorframe. 

 

 

“Your truck is loud and I was expecting you.” The psychiatrist explains. “Please, come in.” She greets the younger woman warmly. 

 

 

The inside of Bedelias home is just as elegant as she is. Clarice has been here once before, at a Christmas party Bedelia had thrown for the female trainees. Then it had been loud, bustling with laughing young women and Bedelia in a glittering ruby red dress at the center of it all. Tonight it is empty except for the two of them. Bedelia wears a simple pencil skirt and peasant blouse. 

 

 

“I don’t have an office. It’s a long standing habit of mine to take the rare appointments I have in my classroom at Quantico.” Clarice nods. Bedelia had joined the staff at the academy five years  ago, using her talents as a phychiastrist to give students tips on maintaining the emotional wellbeing or theirselves and those around them. Clarice hasn’t taken her class yet but Ardelia had found it helpful. “It’s late. I’m sure there would be some students still slaving away on campus but I figured this would be more comfortable for the both of us.” The two women walk to Bedelias living room. Bedelia walks with a slight limp, the sound of her metal leg echoes off the floor. Clarice can see the snowflakes falling on the other side of her glass walls. “Would you like some wine?” Bedelia offers. 

 

 

“I don’t drink. But thank you.” Clarice answers. 

 

 

“You’ll have to excuse me.” Bedelia huffs. “I find a drink or two absolutely necessary when discussing Hannibal. Feel free to have a seat. Let me know if you change your mind.”

 

 

While Bedelia gets her wine Clarice takes a quick look at the living room. There’s a couch off to the side and two armchairs, facing each other one gold and its companion teal. There’s no way to tell which one Bedelia favors so Clarice takes a cautious seat in the teal. Bedelia takes less than three minutes, walking back into the room with a champagne flute full of clear liquid. In her other hand she carries a mostly full bottle, label obscured by her hand.

 

 

“Decided on champagne instead?” Clarice  remarks while Bedelia assesses her choice of seating.

 

 

”Straight vodka actually.” Bedelia responds. Clarice fails to keep the surprise off her face. “Don’t worry. I’ve built up a tolerance!” She laughs. “Let’s begin Clarice. Is Clarice all right? I can call you Miss Starling if you find your first name too personal.” 

 

 

“Clarice is fine.” 

 

 

”You’re sitting in the same chair Hannibal sat when he came to me for sessions you know. Will Graham sat there at one point as well.” Bedelia takes a sip of vodka, wrinkling her nose, even after her talk of tolerance.

 

 

“I didn’t know you were Mr. Graham’s  therapist.” Clarice admits. 

 

 

“I wasn’t. We just had imformal chats while he consulted Hannibal on the Dragon case. Bedelia shakes her head sadly. “He was too far gone by then. Enamored by Hannibal even if he didn’t see it himself. He asked me if Hannibal loved him once.” 

 

 

“And what did you tell him?” 

 

 

“Metaphorical bullshit.” Bedelia smiles wryly. “Tell me what happened in Baltimore.” 

 

 

“Mr. Graham cussed me out. Doctor Lecter mocked my dress, my family, and to a lesser extent my accent. I left general wing with cum in my hair.” Bedelia raises an eyebrow. “Not his.” She clarifies. 

 

 

“I should hope not.” 

 

 

“It was another inmate. Lecter called him Miggs. They don’t like each other.” 

 

 

“Am I right to assume it wasn’t a successful visit?” 

 

 

“Not entirely. I did get a clue from Doctor Lecter. Something about a Miss Mofet. Jacks running the name now. We didn’t find it in his file.”

 

 

“When did be give you that?” 

 

 

“After he saw Mr. Miggs spray semen on my cheek.” Clarice deadpans.

 

 

“Do you think he felt bad for you?” Bedelia drains the rest of her flute in a single swig.

 

 

”I think he was impressed I didn’t run away screaming. If the clue doesn’t turn out to be worthless he felt I deserved _something_ after the ordeal.”

 

 

“Did you want to? Run away screaming?”

 

 

“Oh definitely.” Clarice answers far past the point of embarrassment. “He was watching me leave. I avoided crying in front of him. I barely made it to my car.”

 

 

”What prompted him to insult you?” 

 

 

“I implied that he wasn’t so different from other killers. Threw Mr. Graham’s name in there as well.” 

 

 

“Oh Hannibal certainly wouldn’t like that. He sees himself and Will as above everyone else around them. Were you trying to make him angry?” Bedelia frowns. 

 

 

“Maybe.”

 

 

”How did it feel when he bit back?” 

 

 

“Disconcerting.” She answers honestly. “He was passive aggressive. Smiled pleasantly while taking pot shots at my outfit and background.” 

 

 

“Doesn’t sound like Hannibal’s changed at all.” Bedelia pours herself another glass. “Where’s your dress now?” 

 

 

“At home.” Clarice thinks of the dress, laying crumpled in her closet behind her boxes of summer clothes. 

 

 

“Why did you change? Were you afraid I’d mock it as well?” 

 

 

“It was just uncomfortable.” She lies. 

 

 

“And when he talked about your family?” 

 

 

“He was fairly accurate.”

 

 

”Hmm. If you find Hannibal oddly perceptive you don’t want to spend much time around Will. His empathy disorder allows him to see the viewpoint of just about anyone. It’s a _scarily_ accurate party trick.” Bedelia taps the side of her glass with her nails. 

 

 

“Did Will tell you anything useful before he cursed at you?” 

 

 

“No. You were right though about me being a trainee pissing him off. He got angry, but he shut down pretty quickly.” 

 

 

“Worth a shot.” Bedelia shrugs. “What did you think of them?” Clarice takes a moment to turn to the window and watches the snow fall. She’d been expecting this question, had spent the car ride trying to find an answer. She’s still not sure how to articulate it. 

 

 

“They missed each other. The only time Mr. Graham really payed attention is when I spoke of Doctor Lecter. Lecter’s cell was filled with unmailed letters and drawings of Graham. He went off about the cruelty of keeping them apart. Seemed sincere. And at the end of my visit with Lecter, after he gave me the clue, he mentioned forming terms agreeable to all three of us.” 

 

 

“What do you think those terms are Clarice?” 

 

 

“Something to do with Graham.” 

 

 

Bedelia nods. “Crawford won’t agree to a meeting. He detests Hannibal for ruining Will just as much as for killing people, if not more. He won’t let them see each other.” 

 

 

“I think I can negotiate something.”

 

 

Bedelia snorts. “I’ve never met anyone as stubborn as Hannibal. I’d like to see him meet his match but I doubt he’d settle for anything else than what he wants.”

 

 

”Understood. Thank you for speaking with me Doctor Du Maurier. I’d like to get a head start on my report if you don’t mind.” 

 

 

“Of course Clarice. I’ll tell Jack Crawford you are still clear headed. Continue to keep a professional distance from Lecter and Graham and we won’t have an issue. You’ll be great in the BAU.” Clarice blushes  at the compliment and heads for the door. 

 

 

“Clarice?” Bedelia calls from the living room as she opens it. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a drink? You seem like you need one.” 

 

 

“No thank you Bedelia.” She replies.

 

 

The next afternoon Clarice finds Benjamin Raspaills severed head inside an abandoned storage locker. She’s back at the Baltimore State Hospital by nightfall. Maybe she should have taken the vodka.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and constructive criticism is much appreciated :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Clarice discuss the terms, and Buffalo Bill takes another victim.

She bursts into the waiting room, her overcoat dripping with rain her brow dripping in sweat. Clarice runs to the front desk tracking water in with her workboots. Other than a comatose secretary she’s the only person in the room.

 

 

“I need to speak with Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham _immediately_.” She tells the secretary who gives her a peculiar look and presses Chiltons call button.

 

 

After an [annoyingly] flirtatious discussion of why she was in Baltimore past midnight Chilton ends up fetching a sleepy Barney who leads Clarice to the cells. She visits Hannibal first this time. They’ve got pressing matters to attend to.

 

 

This time Lecter is asleep on his bed, a French cooking magazine folded neatly between his palms like a bouquet of flowers on a corpse.  

 

 

“Doctor Lecter?” She says softly and he raisies himself into a sitting position looking at her attentively, giving no indication he had been sound asleep 20 seconds ago. 

 

 

“Young Clarice, back again so soon? What a pleasant surprise!” 

 

 

“Is it a surprise Doctor? Surely you knew I would need a follow up after finding your gesture of good faith _.”_

 

 

 _”_ ClevergirlClarice _!”_ Hegrins, an eerie thing. “It’s so much quieter around here now. I hope you like it.”

 

 

Clarice pauses to listen to the sounds of the asylum. The screaming, howling, crying from her first visit still continue. There’s only one thing missing. The heavy panting that followed them their first conversation. Her blood runs cold. She didn’t notice while coming in. Miggs is gone. 

 

 

“What did you do to Miggs?”

 

 

”I didn’t do anything to him! I can’t even touch him...It isn’t my fault that the maggot took my suggestion and swallowed his own tongue.” For an awful moment Clarice thinks she’ll be sick. She pushes it back down and presses on.“Why don't you ask me about our friend Buffalo Bill? That is still what you’re here for it Clarice?” He prods at her silence. 

 

 

“Why don't you tell me about the severed head I found in your storage locker. You wanted me to find him Doctor so save us both some time and tell me who the hell he is.”

 

                       

“His name is Benjamin Raspail. I didn't murder him Clarice. I know that’s what your brain has gone. No no I merely hid him away. Exactly as I found him, in that ridiculous car, in his own garage, no less.  He’d so rudely skipped our appointment. Of course I now know he was being decapitated during that time frame, so I suppose I’ll give him a pass.” 

                      

 

 

“If you didn't kill him, do you know who did?” She asks.

 

 

 “You have heard how they were drawn to me haven’t you? Other, _lesser_ killers. Like moths to a bright light.  How did it feel when you saw him Clarice? Were you disgusted? Did you lose your lunch all over those pitiful car seats. No shame. You probably made them look better.” 

 

 

“I was scared. Then I felt..vindicated.” 

 

 

 

“ _Why_ Clarice?”

 

 

”Because I know you are taking me seriously.” He looks at her quizzically. “Or at least..you’re not wasting my time. Who killed Raspaill?” 

 

 

“Who do you think Clarice?” 

 

 

“Buffalo Bill?” She shakes her head. “All those years ago? That’s impossible.” 

 

 

“Is it now?” Hannibal teases. 

 

 

“Doctor Lecter how-”

 

 

“Oh no Clarice! It appears your trial run has ended. You’ll have to pay up if you want more information.” 

 

 

“What do you want in exchange.”

 

 

”We’ll start small. I will let you ask another question, and you will take a letter to my husband up in isolation.” Lecter points at the ceiling smiling fondly. 

 

 

“Oh Doctor Lecter... you know I can’t accept anything from you.” 

 

 

“Not necessary. You have a pen, paper. I will dictate and you will transcribe.” 

 

 

Clarice thinks for a moment. Crawford wouldn’t want her to agree. But if Lecter knew something about Bill? Something they could use to stop young women dying? It would be more than worth it. Clarice pulls out a yellow notepad and a ballpoint pen. 

 

 

“Don’t draw this out Doctor Lecter. I have a nine AM lecture.” 

 

 

“I won’t inconvicence you.” He promises. And then they begin. “My dearest Will. The three year anniversary of our apprehension is fast approaching. It has been two years and seven months since I last spoke to you, and that was only from within a quick embrace during the closing remarks of our trial.” Clarice has to write quickly to keep up with Hannibal’s fast paced dictation. Her pen scratches a hole in one line, another is barely legible. “It’s odd isn’t it, that I was comforted during my first imprisonment here with thoughts of you in my memory palace. Was I happy without you? Certainly not. But I was sated by those imaginings. Not this time mylisamis. I suspect it has something to do with how long I was able to have you, free from anyone’s interruptions. It took me almost a year after we fell together to believe you would stay by my side for both our lifetimes. Although it was not either of our choices to be separated I still feel foolish for believing. You could have escaped while at my bedside Will. I even told you I wanted you to run. [A lie you saw through instantly but that’s beside the point] You held my hand until they pryed us apart. That is a small comfort. Although I can not definitively know that you still love as you did when we last talked I have a nagging feeling Chilton would have come down to gloat had you renounced my affections. The woman who has made this letter possible is very interesting. I have enjoyed her company. When she delivers this, you owe her a _polite_ discussion at the very least. The cherry blossoms at our home in Kyoto will bloom soon Will. We will not be around to see them. But I will remember their sweet perfume, and the lovely look on your face, yours always, Hannibal Lecter.”    

 

 

“No ultraviolence Doctor?” Clarice shakes her hand when she’s finished, in an attempt to weed out the cramp.

 

 

“It’s only a love letter Clarice. No violence necessary. And besides, I can’t very well detail the recipe I plan to use Chiltons liver in when you’ll have to approve it with him. What do you know about love Clarice? It’s so close to Valentine’s Day, do you have a sweetheart up waiting? A pretty man or woman to warm your bed?” 

 

 

“My psychiatrist has advised me to avoid answering personal questions from you. Think of us as colleagues Doctor Lecter, nothing more. We will keep our relationship strictly professional.” Lecter leans back on his mattress lost in a memory. 

 

 

“Your psychiatrist reminds me of my own.” There’s a flash of amusement in Clarice’s expression. He notices. 

 

 

“Ah! You are seeing Doctor Du Maurier. She never returns my cards. How is she? Drinking her days away? Worried sick about the day Will and I will return for leftovers?” Clarice thinks about the vodka bottle, half empty by the time she’d left Bedelias living room....

 

 

”She’s _thriving_. Teaching classes at Quantico. Has trouble swatting off all the advances made from her admirers at the academy.” Clarice embellishes. 

 

 

“A real Mrs. Smith then? I’m glad Bedelia is enjoying herself.” 

 

 

“I think I’ll take that question now Doctor  Lecter.” 

 

 

“Patience is a virtue Clarice. Deliver my letter and bring my husbands response back next time. It will be better to discuss such heavy topics in the morning would it not?” 

 

 

She hurries past the other cells, perversely glad she doesn’t have to deal with Miggs obscenities. She can see Will Graham is pacing his cell on the overhead monitor. He makes no effort to stop as she enters.

 

 

“Welcome aboard the crazy train Starling!” He greets her with a smile.

 

 

“Hello Mr. Graham. I have a letter from your husband for you.” Now Will stops dead in his tracks. 

 

 

“No. You don’t. Chilton and Jack won’t let us have any form of contact. You can pass the forgery through anyway.” he rushes to the food slot. Even though he’s playing tough Clarice can see the hope in his face. She passes him the folded piece of his paper and he begins to read  disappointment showing on his face as he reaches the second line.

 

 

“This isn’t his handwriting.”

 

 

“I transcribed it for him. How about you read the rest before deciding.”

 

 

 

“Your handwriting is atrocious.” Will glares at her but returns to the letter sitting down on his bed and running an excited hand through his hair once he’s done. “You’re telling the truth.” He smiles, the first real smile Clarice has seen from him. “The detail about the cherry blossoms. We never talked about our house in Kyoto. He knew I wouldn’t believe it so he added something only he knew. Knows me as well as ever. How’d you get Jack and Chilton to agree?”

 

 

”I didn’t.” Clarice sighs. “They didn’t give me an ok. I just went for it.” 

 

 

“Uh oh.....” Will tsks. “Already breaking rules for us Starling. That’s not a good sign.” 

 

 

Clarice shrugs. “I need the information. Giving you that letter and getting your response is the way Hannibal’s agreed to give it to me.” 

 

 

“Alright Starling. You give me a second. I’ll write him a response.” Will crosses to his desk and pulls out a pencil and a sheet of white copy paper. 

 

 

“Mr. Graham I’m not supposed to accept anything you give me.” Will laughs. 

 

  

“I think you have bigger things to worry about.” 

 

 

Clarice can’t resist opening the letter he’s written, once she’s safely gotten to her car. She’ll have to tell Bedelia she’s getting sucked in but she’d rather do that then be left unaware. She holds it up to the overhead light squinting to read the ex profilers sprawling scrawl.

 

Dear Hannibal,

First of all. Screw you for doubting dumbass. I love you. Just as I always have. Exactly as I always will. Second of all, I miss you so much more than I have time to write with Starling breathing down the back my neck. Speaking of that Starling woman... I hope I have no reason to be jealous. I promise not to be an ass to her if you promise to keep playing hardball on your negotiations. Dying without seeing you again is something I was working my way towards facing. Reading a letter from you has fucked me over. 

-Love Will

 

Clarice turns on her engine and drives straight home to Ardelia, half wanting to laugh half wanting to scream.  

 

 

Far away from Baltimore Catherine Martin is walking back to her dorm room alone, giddy after the first successful date she’s had in over a year. There’s a tall woman out front who’s struggling to push a white couch into a beat up van. Catherine is more exhausted than she’s been in ages but god’s been kind to her tonight. She won’t miss an opportunity to  pay it foward. 

 

 

“Miss? Do you need some help?” The woman turns around, she’s shockingly beautiful. High angular cheekbones like models in the alternative magazines at her moms hair salon.

 

 

“That would be a lot of help actually.” She smiles at Catherine. They work together slowly pushing the couch into the back. Catherine takes a seat on the cushion to catch her breath and the stranger sits beside her putting a friendly hand on her shoulder.

 

 

“Say? Are you about a size 14?”  

 

 

“Yes.” Catherine nods happily. “Why do you ask?” The next thing she’s breathing is chloroform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and constructive criticism is much appreciated. :)))
> 
> Sidenote: I’ve chosen to make Buffalo Bill a passing trans woman. I know the implication of trans women being violent or phychotic is an issue we’re still dealing with in our society and I certainly don’t want to perpetrate that but I thought it would be better than the meshing of crossdressing and autogynephila they had in Silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A session with Bedelia is interrupted when news of Buffalo Bill’s latest abduction spreads.

It’s still dark, only the smallest hint of red dawn on the horizon when she begins her second session with Bedelia. Clarice is tired, she’s been awake half the night poring over Buffalo Bill’s file. The other half she spent dreaming of Miggs, choking to death on his own tongue, laughing all the while.

 

 

“It’s so early Clarice.” Bedelia yawns. They are sitting in her living room drinking fresh brewed black coffee. “I may not be at my most alert.” 

 

 

”Sorry about that. Clarice winces.

 

 

“It’s alright.” Bedelia stirs her coffee with a tiny silver spoon. “Give me a summary of the visit as you did last time.”

 

 

“Mr. Graham insulted my handwriting, I see a chance for help with Buffalo Bill from Doctor Lecter and I didn’t leave with bodily fluid on my face.” 

 

 

“An improvement.” Bedelia observes. 

 

 

“I think so. I’m almost certain Doctor Lecter drove that man Miggs to suicide from two cells away. Their orderly, Barney, tells me Lecter used to whisper through the vents into the next cell. Goading Miggs would have had to be much more obvious. I don’t see how no one stopped him.”

 

 

”Doctor Chilton doesn’t have the best track record for running a reputable facility. It’s possible that there was simply no one paying attention.” Bedelia rationalizes. “All that noise can mask quieter evil.”

 

 

”I guess.” Clarice frowns, unconvinced. 

 

 

“Does it bother you? That his death could be interpreted as Hannibal killing someone for you?” 

 

 

“Yes. It does.” 

 

 

“If it’s any comfort Clarice, Hannibal doesn’t concern himself with pure altruism. Miggs’ trespass against you is likely only one of the reasons Hannibal wanted him dead. Upsetting you by way of having you blame yourself for his death could be another.” 

 

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Clarice promises.

 

 

”When are you planning on going back?” 

 

 

“Straight from here once you give me the all clear.” 

 

 

“Why so soon?” Bedelia wonders. 

 

 

“Doctor Lecter needs to keep up _his_ end of our bargain.” Clarice takes a drink from her mug internally wishing for the splenda wasting away in her kitchen cabinet. 

 

 

”And what was your end?” The phychiatrist sighs. Clarice is sure she’s expecting the worst.

 

 

”I delivered a letter from Doctor Lecter to Mr. Graham. And I’ve got one to take back to Doctor Lecter in exchange for some information.” She watches Bedelia’s face for a reaction. 

 

 

”Chilton and Jack Crawford didn’t ok this.” Bedelia sounds disappointed.

 

 

”No. They didn’t.” Clarice admits. “Doctor Lecter knows something about Buffalo Bill. He indirectly told me they’ve met, that the severed head we found in his storage locker wasn’t his own victim!” She tells Bedelia excitedly. “I think he’s one of Bill’s.”

 

 

”Considering how long the head spent  in Hannibal storage locker it’s highly unlikely. You realize he could be playing you for a fool?” Bedelia huffs. “He’s stringing you along for his own benefit.” 

 

 

“I thought of that.” Clarice nods. “It’s possible. Even likely. But if he knew something and I didn’t take his bait? I’d never forgive myself.”

 

 

“I understand. Still I’m obligated to advise you to stop agreeing to bargains with him.” Bedelia sighs. “Dealing with the devil isn’t good for your emotional wellbeing. And he’ll push you as far as he’s able.”

 

 

“It’s good for the case.” She retorts. The other woman is silent for a moment. Clarice regrets snapping.

 

 

”Maybe so. But when you start putting this case above your health, you start slipping towards Will Graham’s mentality. Again he started as a brilliant profiler. He never wanted to be, he only kept at it because he was helping other people  people. And it _broke_ him. I’d say that after his fifth or sixth murder the hurt to others began to outweigh the help.” Bedelia stands and walks to her wall brushing a hand across the frosted glass. “Did he ask you any personal questions this time?” 

 

 

“Yes. He asked if I had a Valentine.” She rolls her eyes. “And he asked about you.” 

 

 

“Did he.” Bedelia stays facing the wall. She doesn’t seem alarmed at first. What did you say?”

 

 

”That you were thriving. Teaching at the academy and fending off countless student advances.” 

 

 

“You exaggerated. For what purpose?” Bedelia settles back into her chair worry plain on her face.

 

 

”Just a bit. Your admirers may not be up front with you but they do exist.” Clarice teases.

 

 

”Perhaps.” Bedelia frowns, distracted. “Clarice did he ask you anything else about me?” She doesn’t think Bedelia appreciates the teasing.

 

 

“Doctor Lecter was very keen on knowing If you spent time thinking about them coming for you.” 

 

 

Bedelia’s laugh is humorless. “Of course he’d like to fantasize about me, jumping at my own shadow, my whole life just spent waiting for them to finish the job. I’ll be ready if it ever happens. But I don’t waste much time dwelling on the possibility.”

 

 

“I didn’t think so Doctor Du Maurier.”

 

 

“How was Will when you showed him Hannibal’s letter?” 

 

 

“He didn’t believe me at first. Lecter wrote him something personal, about a home they shared on the run.  That’s when he insulted my handwriting. Which was fair honestly. I couldn’t keep up with Doctor Lecter. I swear the man didn’t pause for breath once and he had a lot to say to Mr. Graham. I know I didn’t catch  all of it. He was probably frustrated.”

 

 

“I’m not at all concerned with Will Graham missing a sentence or two of artful ramblings. You shouldn’t be either.”  Bedelia pauses. “Last session I asked you how you felt about them.  From what you’ve told me today they seem as infatuated with each other as ever. So what do you think Will and Hannibal think of _you_?”

 

 

”Mr. Graham wasn’t glad to see me again. He thinks Doctor Lecter plans on ruining me-” 

 

 

“Will knows Hannibal better than anyone in this world Clarice.” Bedelia interrupts. At this point I believe he can sense his husbands wants as well as his own. So I suggest you take his concerns seriously.” 

 

 

“I do Doctor Du Maurier. He was more free with me this time. Snarky but at least he opened with full sentences. Mr. Graham seemed resigned to my prescense. Doctor Lecter told him he owed me a conversation next time I visit in his letter. I guess we’ll see how that goes today.”

 

 

”And Hannibal?” 

 

 

“He told Mr. Graham he enjoys my company. I remind him of his husband.”

 

 

”He’s wonderful with flattery. But then again, most on the sociopathic spectrum are.” Bedelia reminds her. “Do you think you remind him of his husband because of the potential he sees for breaking you?” Clarice doesn’t get a chance to respond before her phone starts buzzing. Three texts from Jack Crawford block out the top half of her lock screen, a recent selfie with Ardelia. Clarice looks them over and breathes in sharply. 

 

_Crawford: You need to call me._

_Crawford: There’s been an abduction._

_Crawford:It’s Bill._

 

 

“What’s happened?” Bedelia asks.

 

 

”Crawford said there’s a new victim. He says I have to call him.” Bedelia leads her to a rocking chair on the back porch and then walks back inside for more coffee. Clarice watches the climax of what has become a gorgeous sunrise as Crawford fills her in on the horrors. She learns the latest victim is the only daughter of a junior senator. She’s plus sized, like all of Bills victims. Catherine Martin attends a low security public college. He doesn’t think Bill even knew she was a senators daughter. Catherine had been abducted in size alone.

 

 

”Bill’s had her for 36 hours. She doesn’t have much time left.” He explains. ”We need to act quickly. Bedelia told me you’d just gone to see Lecter and Graham last night. Believe me when I say wouldn’t  put you through that again unless it was absolutely necessary. You told me there’s a chance Hannibal’s met Bill. We don’t have as much as one smudged fingerprint, we don’t have DNA. Much as I hate to say it Lecter’s our best option. And he didn’t say a peep about Bill until you came along.” 

 

 

“What if I just asked him for Bill? He’s already offered help. If he knew how much we needed-”

 

 

”Hannibal liked to leave breadcrumbs when we worked together. But he was never a snitch when he figured out the puzzle before I did. You’re still acting under the assumption that Hannibal feels like we do. He’s never met Catherine. He’s got no connection to her. The only person he’s shown himself to care about is his husband.” Crawford sighs in frustration.

 

 

”So we use that then. If we offer him something with Mr. Graham he’ll deal won’t he?.” Clarice can hear Crawford cursing in the background, his exact phrasing lost.

 

 

“He would. But I don’t want to do it.”

 

 

“Not even to save Catherine Martin?” She tells him, accusatory

 

 

“Let me finish Starling. I don’t want to. But to save a young woman’s life I will. What would you have me offer?”

 

 

“If you want him to really tell all? Adjacent cells. There’s new space on Doctor Lecter’s floor.” Clarice neglects to mention the reason for the opening.

 

 

“He’s already asked you for that hasn’t he?” She can visualize his scowl. 

 

 

“Not in as many words. But he wants Nr. Graham. More than anything else we could offer.”

 

 

“It’ll take time Starling. We’d have to get on our knees and beg that bastard Chilton, not to mention actually organize the transfer. You’ll have to convince him a deals already in the works. But we can’t wait for Hannibal to give us the information. He has to start immediately. You need to get over there _now_.” 

 

 

“I can do this Crawford.” She tells him before they end the call. Clarice turns to find Bedelia watching her. There’s no way to tell how long the older woman’s been listening. 

 

 

“I don’t like this. Hannibal is getting everything he wants and he could easily lead the investigation in the wrong direction. Jack Crawford puts too much trust in him. Even after everything we’ve seen. It makes me really uneasy.” 

 

 

“He wants Mr. Graham as close to him as possible. He won’t jeapordize a reunion to fuck with us.” Clarice stands and rushes past Bedelia returning to the living room for her purse.

 

 

”Wait! Not at first. But once they’re together again there’s no telling what will happen. You haven’t seen them together, what they can accomplish. You don’t _know_ them Clarice. No one really does.” 

 

 

“I haven’t forgotten what they are.” 

 

 

“I didn’t say you had.” Bedelia latches unto her arm and pulls her in close. “I just don’t think you fully appreciate how relevant what they are is to this investigation. You think you can use their affection for each other against them to solve this case. And maybe you can. A good deed never goes unpunished around Lecter and Graham. Soon enough they’ll come to collect.” Clarice yanks her arm away and Bedelia lets her go watching sadly from the doorway as she drives off. She sets a course for the asylum. Senator Ruth Martins voice is on the radio. Pleading over and over for Catherine to come home. It’s haunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and constructive criticism is much appreciated :)))


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jane Gumb and Catherine Martin have a back and forth in the basement.

Jane Gumb applies her poppy red lipstick in the soft candlelight, adjusting the mirror so the angle on her face is just right. Her prisoner is _still_ screaming. Jane sighs deeply and puts on another record before moving to her eyeshadow. Aretha Franklin almost drowns the sound out out. The girl must have a strong set of lungs to keep screaming for as long as she has. Jane has half a mind to kill her now, but it’s only hour 36 and her skin hasn’t loosened enough for it’s grand purpose. It would be a terrible waste, even to stop the awful wailing that is so intent on ruining her perfect basement hideaway.

 

 

Jane has spent a lot of time remodeling it. The old woman that had lived in the house before her had let the space fall into disrepair. Jane had left the house above mostly the same, after she’d murdered her. She couldn’t be bothered for a full overhaul. But the basement had become a special project shortly before the girls she now brought here had. Her vanity was stacked with at least ten different abandoned tubes of lipstick. Jane had a bad habit of using things just once or twice and moving on to the next. Her attention span was much shorter than most people. Jane has spent most her life looking to the next big thing.

 

 

The basement is a prime example of that, discarded pieces of phases past surround her as she sits in a swivel chair touching up the rest of her makeup. There’s a costume rack, by the doors leading up to the stairs, with outfits ranging from  boudoir sets to knockoff flapper dresses. She had used it for the one person shows she enjoyed putting on last summer. Tonight Jane is wearing nothing but white lace garters and a red satin robe. The walls are paint splattered from Jane’s attempt to make a Pollock look alike. The process had been messy, but fun, although she’d never gotten the urge to do it again. The rest of her records are stacked haphazardly in a box containing everything from Broadway showtunes to rock music to opera. Jane _hated_ opera, she’d tried to make herself into someone cultured once, but it had been unspeakably boring and she couldn’t handle boredom. The records are sitting next to the new addition of a discolored white sofa.

 

 

She had purchased the monstrosity off Craigslist and gone to pick it up outside of a dormitory hall at Eastwood College. Jane had been struggling to get it inside the van when a young woman had offered help. Jane really hadn’t been planning to take another girl, she had a whole broken arm shtick for that. But   _she_ had appeared a picture of angelic kindness with her flaxen perm and perfect size. Jane simply couldn’t help herself. It was lucky that she always carried chloroform, just in case.

 

 

They were calling her “Buffalo _Bill_ ” now. Jane tried to stay away from the news. Hearing what other people thought of her crimes were of little interest to her,  but she had accidentally heard it once, flipping through channels to find the price is right. Jane tries to convince herself it’s a _good_ thing that the authorities think she’s a a man. It still takes her back to her youth. She _hates_ being reminded.  It shouldn’t bother her. Jane is so far removed from it all now. The boys in the foster homes who would beat her for showing a trace of effeminacy, the caretakers who sent her for endless phychiatric evaluations simply for being herself. The old men she’d met when she was living on the street jeering at her in her miniskirt and high heels until she’d turned around to flip them off and they’d seen her face. None of these people could ever hurt her again.

 

 

Jane had thought she could be _normal_  after the years spent scrounging up pennies for transition finally payed off. That wasn’t the case. Jane was at home in her body now, more than she’d ever dreamed she could be. But she was still out of place. The mind numbing boredom that she carried in her soul weighed just as heavy. She spent a decade cycling through hobbies and lovers trying to get rid of it. Jane had almost given up. Then she had snapped, killed someone she almost loved in a fit of rage. It had felt wonderful. And now she is truly living. 

 

 

The girl that is sitting in the dark at the bottom of her pit will be her sixth. Jane thinks she’ll need six more, to complete her costume. It’s all very exciting. She finishes the makeup and takes a pill bottle out of the vanity drawer, mindlessly shaking it as she approaches the pit. Aretha’s crooning echoes off the walls. Her puppy Precious follows her as she goes, nipping fondly at her heels. 

 

 

“Would you like another appetite suppressant?” She calls to the girl below. Precious approaches the lip of the pit barking curiously. 

 

 

“ _Fuck_ you! Fuck your stupid pills! I want a goddamn Big Mac hamburger! Give me some food or just kill me already!” The girl shouts. Jane rolls her eyes. Her prisoner had been so docile at first, spinning lies about her mother being someone important, swearing she wouldn’t tell anyone if Jane just let her leave. As her hope had melted away so had any semblance of nicety. None of the others had been so feisty. Jane is glad to have the literal [the pit] and figurative [the prisoner is starving and sleep deprived] high ground because if they were to meet in a fair fight Jane isn’t sure who would come out victorious. Luckily she won’t have to find out. 

 

 

“I can’t do that.” Jane reminds her placing the pill bottle in the bucket and lowering it anyways, in case she changes her mind. 

 

 

“At least give me some water.” The girl pleads. “I can’t keep dry swallowing these.”

 

 

”Yes you can.” Jane picks up Precious  and looks down into the pit squinting her eyes to see into the darkness. Her prisoner is pacing back and forth, kicking at the futon Jane’s given her. 

 

 

 

“You’re crazy!” She screams. “You’re _insane_!” The words don’t bother Jane much anyone. She’s heard them her entire life. Adapt or die. Jane ducks out of the room and crosses back to her vanity drawer. There’s a half empty bottle of skin lotion inside. Jane pops the tab and takes a sniff. Calming lavender. She wonders if it will be any help calming the girl in the pit. Jane laughs to herself. She drops precious on the couch covering her with a needlepoint blanket. 

 

 

“Stay girl.” 

 

 

Her prisoner is pressed flat against the dirt walls of the pit, looking for a way to climb out when Jane returns. 

 

 

“Put this on. If you don’t there’s going to be more trouble.” Jane warns her. “Here. Catch.” She says before throwing the bottle. Catherine catches it neatly and proceeds to squeeze most of the contents into the floor, grinding the lotion into the packed dirt with her heel. Jane fumes. The skin must be kept soft or this is all for nothing.

 

 

“You come down here I’ll kill you! Get my legs around your skinny little neck and squeeze! I’ll send you right home to Jesus you _cunt_! You better be ready!” Catherine screeches.

 

 

 

 Jane wonders if it would be better to just let Catherine tucker herself out. It takes a long time for someone to starve to death, a lot less though if that someone doesn’t have water. She’s not sure exactly how it affects the skin. It’s a risk she won’t take.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive critisism and feedback is much appreciated :)))


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarice returns to BSHCI for a visit with Hannibal and Will, receives a revelation about Bill, and has a head on collision with an unwelcome figure from Hannibal and Will’s distant past.

“ _No_! _Absolutely_ not!” Doctor Chilton slams his cane on his office floor. He’s behaving like an spoiled toddler throwing a  temper tantrum. With his small stature and angry pinched face he certainly looks the part. “This is _my_ facility Miss Starling. You can’t just waltz in here with your fancy federal jurisidiction and tell me where to place my patients!”

 

 

“Doctor Chilton.” Clarice is working hard to keep her voice calm and professional but he’s testing her patience, just as much as Doctor Lecter had. “We need to know what Doctor Lecter knows about Bill. Crawford and I agree that he’ll cooperate if Mr. Graham is with him. Not to mention there’s a higher probability that Mr. Graham himself would help us if his husband asked in person. From what I’ve heard from my colleagues at Quantico Doctor Lecter and Mr. Graham were proficient working cases separately, but absolutely _brilliant_ together.”

 

 

“Yes yes I know all the stories. You can save it Miss Starling. I’ve _lived_ through them. I watched Will Graham make nonsensical  jumps in logic and come out the other side with serial killers collared, Hannibal Lecter beaming proudly by his side! That doesn’t change my answer. I think Graham’s mental state is  improving. I won’t risk my patients wellbeing by putting him back with Hannibal Lecter, the person who _caused_ his mental break in the first place! That would be irresponsible! And deeply unethical!” Clarice can’t hold back a snort. Doctor Chilton stares her down. “Something funny about mental breaks to you Miss Starling?”

 

 

”You want to know what I think Doctor Chilton?” She smiles. “I don’t think you give a _damn_ about Mr. Graham’s treatment or wellbeing. I think that you’re keeping them apart as your revenge. It gives you the same satisfaction as sticking screaming schizophrenics two doors down from Doctor Lecter and forcefeeding Mr. Graham sedatives. You blame them for what Francis Dolarhyde did to you. And that’s well within your rights. _You_ have the power now, and you’re using it to antagonize your patients and make good on old threats. I’m sure you know that’s generally frowned upon in phychiatric communities.” 

 

 

“Is that what _they_ told you Miss Starling? Seems like you’re on their side already. After two visits? That’s not unusual I’ve seen others turn faster.” He smirks. “Though I’m sure you know it’s generally frowned upon in the FBI, to help serial killers.”

 

 

“I honestly don’t care what you think of me. I care about saving Catherine. If letting two sad lonely men without any future beyond these walls see each other’s faces is going to do that? Then I’m _more_ than willing.”  She replies. “Let the FBI frown. They’ll smile once I find Bill. Besides, what do you figure the Senator will think Doctor Chilton? When she hears that you blocked a move that could help us save her daughter?” The color drains from Chiltons plastic face. 

 

 

“The earliest I can do a move is this evening. We’re short staffed at the moment. Barney is home with the stomach flu.”

 

 

“You tell him I hope he feels better. If you see him before I do.” Clarice stands and begins to leave.

 

 

“Miss Starling?” Chilton calls out before she reaches the door to his office. 

 

 

“Yes Doctor Chilton?”

 

 

“The minute you catch your man? The very _moment_ you save Catherine? I’m moving Lecter and Graham apart again.”

 

 

“That’s fine Doctor Chilton. It’s your facility.” 

 

 

 And I’m making sure you’re banned from setting foot in this hospital!” He adds displeased at her lack of reaction.

 

 

“That’s very petty of you Doctor.” Clarice reaches for the doorknob.

 

 

“It’s for the best Miss Starling. Why would you want to continue visiting anyways?” He gets out of his chair as she  steps outside. “Soon enough they’ll worm their way into your sympathies. If they haven’t already.” Clarice smiles pleasantly and slams the door in his self satisfied face. 

 

 

There’s a new orderly who takes her to Doctor Lecter’s cell in Barney’s absence. A matronly older woman with a wide knowing face. She’s completely quiet, doesn’t say anything after they’ve entered the general wing. Before she leaves the orderly gives Clarice an encouraging nod. And off again she goes.

 

 

“Hello Clarice. Back in the light of day for your question?” Doctor Lecter is sitting in his cell picking at a lunch tray, cinnamon applesauce and macoroni this time. Clarice would love some Mac and cheese right about now. He doesn’t seem to be enjoying his.

 

 

”Partly yes. I have a proposal for you Doctor.” 

 

 

“Do you now Clarice...” she can almost see the wheels in his head turning.

 

 

”Yes Doctor Lecter. In exchange for help on the Buffalo Bill case Doctor Chilton and Mr. Crawford have graciously agreed to have your husband transferred to this wing. How does that sound?” 

 

 

“Using my love for Will as a quid pro quo for capturing Bill? Lovely. It sounds _lovely_ Clarice. But I have to admit I smell a rat. Uncle Jack and Chilton would not agree to a trade off like this unless there was considerable pressure.” She can almost see the wheels in his head turning. Doctor Lecter stands up and fetches a drawing of Will from his wall smiling fondly down at it. “Bills taken another victim, correct?”

 

 

”Yes we think so.” She admits.

 

 

”There’s nothing especially significant about the number six so I’ll have to assume it was someone important.” He thinks for a moment. “A mayors  daughter?” Clarice doesn’t react. “A pretty young wife of a business mogul, a local violin prodigy? No? Alright something political. That would certainly motivate _Chilton_...A young woman from the house? Or a senators child?” Clarice nods. “I’ll answer the question I owe you today. You’re a smart woman Clarice. I’m sure you understand it wouldn’t be wise of me to tell you more yet. Manipulating me by promising to bring me Will and then never following through is something Jack Crawford and Chilton would readily agree to.”

 

 

”Doctor Lecter. We have limited time to save the latest victim-”

 

 

”Then I’m sure you will rush the transfer.” He waves her concerns off. “Now what would you like to know? Choose wisely.” 

 

 

“Who is he?” 

 

 

“Going straight for the kill. Bold of you. But if I tell you I lose my leverage....” 

 

 

“It was worth a shot.” She shrugs. Doctor Lecter smiles, seeming amused. 

 

 

“I wonder if we could have been friends. If we had met in our private lives. I enjoy your company. I sincerely hope you enjoy mine, even if I have been crabby. Being locked in a cell tends to make one a bit...cagey.“   _Unbelievable_ she thinks to herself. If someone had told her a week ago she’d be sitting at the BSHCI listening to Hannibal Lecter make awful puns she would have laughed in their face. And yet...here she is. 

 

 

“I mean no offense, but the people on the outside that considered you a  friend often ended up in the hospital. I prefer you in a cage.” 

 

 

“Fair point.” Hannibal shrugs. “Although I will say that in most cases the feeling of friendship was not mutual. There are  few people I truly consider friends.”

 

 

“How did you meet Buffalo Bill?” Clarice dodges.

 

 

“We never officially met. Your killer was a lover of the original owner of that severed head you found in my storage unit. We spoke only briefly.

 

 

“Did he kill Mr. Raspail?”

 

 

Hannibal shrugs. “Seems that way doesn’t it.”

 

 

”That’s an extraordinary long cool off period Doctor Lecter.” Clarice points out. 

 

 

“Yes but consider this. If Bill killed Raspail it was all very experimental. Perhaps it didn’t provide the rush that was expected. It seems the women are different. Bill has a taste...Keeps coming back for more. Clarice did Will give you that polite conversation he owed you? Or was he too focused on the letter I’m sure he wrote for me....?” Clarice pulls the aforementioned letter from her purse, a little impressed they’d gotten this far in the conversation without Doctor Lecter asking for it. 

 

 

“It took all my restraint not to beg you for this as soon as you got in.” He confesses as she slides the folded piece of paper through the meal slot.

 

 

“Your husband wasn’t interested in talking with me last night.” Clarice answers his question. Doctor Lecter doesn’t reply, he’s too busy with his letter. 

 

 

“You let Will write this himself.” He notes after his first reading. “Did you think I was too dangerous to be passing notes? Because contrary to popular opinion _Will_ is the one who bites.“ He laughs to himself, lost in a reverie. “Take your file to him now.” Doctor Lecter proposes . “I think once you tell him the good news, he’ll be a lot more forthcoming.” 

 

 

“I do hope so Doctor Lecter.” Clarice tells him. She leaves him standing in the chair drawing in one hand, love letter in the other.

 

 

”Hi Starling.” Mr. Graham greets her tiredly when she walks into his unit. She’s had the female orderly bring her a chair. If Doctor Lecter is right about his husband giving her help she might need to sit down. She sets the folding chair as close to the glass as she dares and lets him stare at her. “We’re matching now.” He tells her once he’s gotten a good look. She looks at him confused. He points to the dark circles under his eyes. She traces her own, already feeling the bags forming.

 

 

”I didn’t get much sleep last night Mr. Graham.” She admits “I can’t imagine how you do it.” 

 

 

“Practice makes perfect.” Will sighs. 

 

 

“You’re going to be transferred tonight.”

 

 

“Where?” Mr. Graham narrows his eyes. “I didn’t think Chilton was bored of me yet.” 

 

 

“No you don’t understand. You’re not being transferred out of this facility. You’re going to be in a general cell directly opposite Doctor Lecter.”  

 

 

“God damn.” Will whistles. “That’ll be a new kind of torture.” 

 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

 

“I’ll be able to see Hannibals face. After two _years_ I can finally speak to him. But never hold him. We lived without touches for so long after we first met. But it’s  unbearable enough now and that’s without him right in front of me.”

 

 

”Don’t push it Mr. Graham. Chiltons already testy enough about the situation as it is.”

 

 

”I don’t plan on it  Starling.” He assures her. “What do we owe you in return?”

 

 

“It’s what Doctor Lecter owes mainly. He knows things about Buffalo Bill. Who he is. Probably how to find him. But like I told you when we first spoke, I’d love your help with a profile.” 

 

 

“You keep coming back Agent Starling. Even after I warned you. Cussed you out. I’m sure Hannibal’s sassed you, tried to get under your skin. I’ll take a look. You’ve made it this far. I owe you that.” Clarice carefully feeds the file on Bill through the slot. “It might be a while. I don’t know how familiar you are with my profiling. I tend to get...sucked in. It’s more jarring at crime scenes but I don’t think you’d be able to wheel me over to one of these would you?”

 

 

“No Mr. Graham I don’t think so.”

 

 

“That’s fine. The less time I spend in that mask the better.” He shrugs. Clarice sits back and watches him open the file. He flips through it silently pausing on the photos of the bodies, fresh out of the water. She  wonders if he’s bothered by them. In the grand scheme of his own murders Bill’s are really tame. The last thing he reads over is the autopsy notes before  his face takes on this blank quality. He’s there in the room with her, but she suspects he’s also on the banks of some southern creek looking at his morbid offering to the water. Clarice spends her time watching the seconds tick by and wondering how much time Catherine Martin has left. Eventually she feels his eyes on her. 

 

 

“What can you tell about him Mr. Graham? Who is he?”

 

 

”You’re so quick to say _he_.” He notices. “Why is that Starling? There’s no DNA evidence pointing to it.”

 

 

”Are you suggesting Buffalo Bill could be a woman?” Clarices voice is whisper soft. Her heart feels like it’s about to jump out of her throat.

 

 

“No. I’m _telling_ you she is. You need to approach it from a different angle. The nicknames blindsided the whole damn  FBI...” he huffs. “Look Starling. There’s no sign of sexual assault, which isn’t unusual in itself if she was getting off on it she could use the violence of the kill. Except the mutilation is done entirely postmortem! When she dumped the bodies she covered them. Look how their hands are folded over their chests. The skin missing is stitched evenly... She’s not skinning these women to humiliate them further. The skinning has a purpose. There’s a _reason_ behind it, a grand design that’s obvious to her. But still hidden to us.” He pauses for breath. 

 

 

“Kansas City Homicide assumed it was a man and we ran with it.” Clarice is horrified, but not quite ready to believe. He presses forward.

 

 

“Our society underestimates the darkness in women Agent Starling. But I’ve been around enough violent women to recognize one’s handiwork. Think about it. The earlier victims have head trauma but it seems like she’s switched to drugging. There’s residual traces in three four and five’s systems. A man dragging an unconscious woman in the middle of the night? He’s suspicious. A woman? Well she’s just helping her poor drunk friend get home safely. She’s got charisma, personable to everyone she meets. Her victims might have even gone willingly at first. She seems harmless.” 

 

 

“Shit. Shit shit _SHIT.”_ She curses, West Virginia accent becoming more visible with each slip of the tongue. “I need to call Crawford.” Clarice realizes. “I’ll be back tonight after the transfer, probably be taking a nap in the waiting room while the switch is made.” The corner of his mouth twitches upwards. She’s gone in a snap. He lets himself smile when she goes. 

 

 

Clarice is dialing Crawford, not paying attention to where she’s walking when she crashes into a woman’s chest knocking herself to the ground. She’s about to start profusely apologizing, Crawford momentarily forgotten, when she looks up and sees Freddy Lounds grinning from ear to ear. It’s been almost a decade since the photos Clarice had seen in Doctor Lecter and Mr. Grahams file were taken and Freddy is still sporting her signature hair, fiery red. She’s had it cropped close to her neck in an effort to look more mature. It doesn’t  work. Clarice wonders if she’s had to dye it yet.

 

 

Most tabloid reporters will want to move up to more reputable publications if given the chance. With all the attention Freddy had gotten she certainly could have. But the woman had been content to stay in her familiar cesspool whipping up story after ridiculous story about clandestine celebrity orgies and miracle weight loss products. In fits of nostalgia she’d  always come back to the case that had struck her gold. Which explains why she’s standing over Clarice, looking like the cat who just ate the canary.

 

 

”You’re the FBI agent that’s visited Hannibal Lecter and his lover three times in three days? Funny. You don’t look old enough to be someone with those kind of  balls.” Freddy tells her a blend of  admiration and mockery.

 

 

”I don’t have time for interviews Miss Lounds.” She dusts herself off as she raises from the stone steps well aware she’s left most of her dignity lying beneath her.

 

 

”I don’t think that’s true. You’d be wise to sit down and give me a few minutes of your time Agent.....” 

 

 

“Starling.” Clarice finishes. 

 

 

“You see Agent Starling I’ve got quite the stockpile of interesting headlines. I already got some shots of you leaving. And a ton of you running in the rain last night” Freddy tsks. Clarice wonders what kind of life she has to have the leisure time to stake out for two days straight. “You’re looking so _emotional_...There’s tons of  different ways to spin that. Are you the new girl who drew  the short stick who got sent to perform a phych eval? Are you looking for inspiration? Help on cases? Or maybe you’re the Lecter-Graham’s secret paramour! Hell! You don’t even have to be an FBI agent at all. You’re not a familiar face to my readers yet. No one knows who the hell you are!” 

 

 

“I’m Clarice Starling, FBI. And I don’t have time for your _bullshit_. You don’t scare me Miss Lounds. Publish your story. I’ve got more important things to worry about than some washed up gossip girl.” She pushes past Freddy trying her best not to think of her face in the grocery check out aisle come Monday. There’s no way to know what eyes Freddy has on the place. Clarice waits until she’s bundled away in her car to call Crawford. He picks up on the second ring. 

 

 

“What’s going on Starling. Hit me with it quickly, this place is a madhouse.” 

 

 

“Will Graham worked his magic.” She explains. 

 

 

“We haven’t transferred them yet right? How in Gods name did you swing _that_?

 

 

”It doesn’t matter, listen. We’ve been looking at this wrong. There’s a reason no one’s reported anything suspicious, why we can’t find a single suspect that matches the profile. Buffalo Bill’s a woman.”

 

 

”He’s sure?” He asks. 

 

 

“He’s positive. Jesus Christ Crawford. It’s beautiful to to watch that man work. Terrible but beautiful. The girls were all killed in ways that don’t require physical prowess. They were all covered, mutilations post mortem no sexual assault.”

 

 

”He could be lying Starling. We have to keep that in mind.” 

 

 

“I know Sir. Trust me I will but-”

 

 

”But Will’s _right_ goddamit. It lines up. Closes a lot of gaps. Hannibal tell you anything else?” Crawford wonders.

 

 

“Not much.” She sighs. “He’s waiting until he sees Mr. Graham.” 

 

 

“Smart son of a bitch. He knows if he gives it all away his chance is gone. Where are you right now Starling? You’re not still with them are you” 

 

 

“No Sir. I’m going for a drive.” 

 

 

“Good. Clear your head. Give Doctor Du Maurier a ring. I’ll have Chilton call you when Will and Lecter are settled. Then you haul ass back over there and finish this.” 

 

 

After she hangs up Clarice rolls down the windows and cranks her music. She’s tired, hungry, completely mentally drained. But for the first time since she stepped foot in Crawford’s office she feels real hope. The noise in her head has quieted. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and constructive criticism is much appreciated :))


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarice reaches a conclusion, and a breaking point.

Clarice takes another bite of her third quarter pounder, greasy goodness dripping down her chin. She sighs in appreciation. Turns out a pit stop at a  roadside McDonald’s is just as therauputic as a session with Bedelia. She’s sitting alone in a booth by the window, shoveling French fries and watching the cars pass. She’s been there for two hours and the place is starting to clear out. Clarice isn’t sure how much longer she can take the manager giving her the stink eye before she bites the bullet and goes to order more food. Paper  sits scattered on the table  beneath her, she’s spent most of the afternoon adjusting her notes on Buffalo Bill based on the revelation in Mr. Graham’s cell.

 

 

Crawford’s shoveling through Doctor Lecter’s records on Mr. Raspail and conducting interviews with people who knew him to see if they can make a list of his former lovers and find Bill from it. There’s only one problem. Mr. Raspail is definitely gay. The tidbit is noted both by his friends and in Doctor Lecter’s notes. Which leaves two possibilities, Doctor Lecter was lying about Bill being Raspails lover or Doctor Lecter didn’t know Bill was a woman. Neither possibility is very promising.Unless Bill has an androgynous name there’s no way Doctor Lecter could know her identity and not know she’s female. And if he was lying about her being Raspails lover there’s no way to know what _else_ he’ll lie about. Clarice feels the sudden and intense urge to bang her head on the table. It’s ten minutes later when her phone rings, caller ID showing an unidentified number. 

 

 

“Starling.” She picks up. 

 

 

 

“Will Graham is freshly deposited into his temporary home in the general wing.” Chilton informs her. 

 

 

“Thank you Doctor Chilton. I’ll be there in fifteen.” 

 

 

“I won’t wait up.”

 

 

Clarice races to her car and guns it. She’s out front of the BSHCI in twelve. The halls of general wing have a new sound tonight. She can hear Doctor Lecter and Mr. Graham shouting from the entrance of the hall. Although she can’t make out the words the conversation sounds so intense her first thought is that they’re fighting. That changes when she sees them. Clarice stops at Miggs empty cell, the scene before her seeming too intimate to interrupt. Both men are pressed to the glass of their cells, hands splayed wide as close to each other as a walkway and two sets of bars will allow. They’re saying something in a language Clarice isn’t familiar with but the adoration in their tone is obvious.

 

 

Doctor Lecter notices her and says something to his husband who doubles over laughing and then straightens, tears rolling down his cheeks. Both men are beaming. 

 

 

“Come in Clarice.” Doctor Lecter tells her and she does, turning her chair she sits in to the side so she can almost look at both of them. They continue conversing,, fast paced, Clarice is getting whiplash from trying to keep up with who’s speaking.

 

 

“What are you two talking about?” She asks after giving a moment to let the talk die down.

 

 

“I’m afraid it’s not appropriate conversation for company.” Doctor Lecter answers, smiling coyly.

 

 

“What language?” Clarice wonders.

 

 

“Lithuanian.” Will cuts in. “Chilton will have to find a translator no one on staff is familiar.”

 

 

”He’s _recording_ this?”

 

 

“Little bastard records everything. He doesn’t like not being in the know.” Will frowns. “Makes him feel inferior. How was  your nap in the waiting room Starling?”

 

 

“How was the burger?” Doctor Lecter adds. “What!” He protests when Will shoots him a look. “I can smell it on her it’s quite pungent.”

 

 

”Are you really missing meat so much that you’ll beg for description of a McDonalds hamburger?” Will teases. “You’ve fallen farther than I thought Hannibal.” 

 

 

“Dearest! I would never sink that low.” His husband clasps a hand to his chest in mock suprise. “My body is still a temple!”  Will snorts. 

 

 

“Doctor Lecter. Mr. Graham.” Clarice interects. She didn’t come to watch two serial killers flirt. “We don’t have much time. If we could get to the matter at hand.”

 

 

”Yes of course Clarice.” Hannibal nods graciously. “You’ve done so much for us. Let’s see what we can do for you. Will tells me he profiled Buffalo Bill as a woman-”

 

 

“We’re going to start calling her Buffalo Jill.” He interrupts. 

 

 

“Does that work for you Clarice? Will’s very proud of himself for coming up with that one.” Doctor Lecter stage whispers conspiratorially.

 

 

”That’s fine by me Doctor Lecter. But there’s some things you told me that just aren’t adding up with what the FBI already knows. Mr. Raspail was an out gay man. Jill couldn’t have been his lover.”

 

 

”I _told_ you she was clever Will!” Doctor Lecter praises. 

 

 

“Starling.” Will calls to her. “There’s a detail in the autopsy reports that hasn’t been made public yet. A rare moth found in each of their throats....Do you know the symbolism for moths? Think on it.” 

 

 

“Transformation...” Doctor Lecter trills. “Our Jill is very familiar with it. Respects the process.”

 

 

”Jesus Hannibal. Give her a second.” Will grins. “She would have gotten it herself.” 

 

 

“I don’t doubt her intelligence mylisamis. Clarice knows we are on the clock. I doubt she minds.” 

 

 

“Jill’s a _trans_ woman? Trans people aren’t violent Doctor Lecter. It’s in the literature. You know that.” 

 

 

“Not typically. Jill’s gender identify is not what makes her such a disturbed individual.” He frowns “Although unfortunately the ridicule she faced for it probably acted as a catalyst to her current mental state.”

 

 

”Jill was Raspails lover when she was still a man?” Clarice confirms.

 

 

”Jill has never been a man Starling.” Will chastises.

 

 

“Wording aside Clarice, the answer is yes. Before anyone knew Jill as a woman she was romantically involved with Raspail.” 

 

 

“Why’d she kill him then Doctor Lecter?” 

 

 

“Who knows. Perhaps she felt bad for decieving him. Or he was leaving her....Love makes people do strange things. The scars on Will here are proof of that”

 

 

“She killed him because she felt like killing. Jill was bored. That was her motivation. Stilll is” Mr. Graham  asserts. “They weren’t in love. What she did to Mr. Raspail didn’t satisfy her. She looked for other outlets. Then something happened recently and she tried again.”  

 

 

“The first woman was weighed down Clarice. Hidden. Almost as if she was guilty. Almost as if.....” Doctor Lecter trails off.

 

 

”They knew each other.”  She realizes.

 

 

“I don’t think you really need our guidance anymore. You could crack this case wide open. All on your own.” 

 

 

“Maybe I could Doctor Lecter. But there’s no reason to risk that.” She reminds him. “You know who she is. Please tell me.” 

 

 

Mr. Graham shakes his head. “It make us sad. To see you in pain.”

 

 

”Clarice. You are the woman who guaranteed we are far happier now than we’ve  been in years.” Doctor Lecter continues. “But when I tell you what you need to know Chilton will rip us apart and make sure no one can bring us together again.”

 

 

“He’s already told you that after the case is over you’re banned. Hasn’t he?” Will realizes. She doesn’t need to answer. 

 

 

“Dangling Jills identity over your pretty head until her important prisoner dies is the best course of action. I get more time with my husband.” Doctor Lecter smiles sadly. “This is the last time Will and! I will see each other  Clarice....Barring the possibility of an afterlife.”

 

 

”Mr. Graham. I know you don’t agree with this.” She pleads, panicked. “You can already feel her pain! Let me tell you her story.  Her name is Catherine Martin. She’s a freshman at Eastwood’s college. Catherine is an only child of a single mother. Her father died in a car crash. She graduated valedictorian from her high school and she’s the person her mother has left. This is wrong Mr. Graham! You know it is.” 

 

 

“Stop trying to use my husbands gifts against him Agent Starling.” Doctor  Lecter voice is calm. Even so, he’s angry. She can tell because he’s not using her name.

 

 

“I can speak for myself Hannibal. _Fuck_ Starling! I told you to get out of here. I warned you this would hurt. And you didn’t listen!” Behind his words he’s conflicted. Clarice knows she just has to push a little harder.

 

 

“What can I do. For you to help save Catherine. What do I need to do!” 

 

 

“ _Clarice_.” Doctor Lecter says softly. “There is one thing. Go against dear Doctor Du Maurier and poor Jack Crawford and every other reasonable soul who briefed you before they sent you here. We’ll have ourselves an unconventional tête-à-tête. Give me an opportunity to know you. I know not many people find phychoanalysis very pleasant. Know I don’t offer this lightly Clarice. I find you interesting. I very much want to know what makes you tick. And as much as I would like to deny it holding back information to save an innocent does pain my Will. I won’t keep him in pain if he doesn’t want to be.”

 

 

“No one leaves unscathed....” Mr. Graham reminds her.

 

 

The warnings flash through her mind in never ending succession. Bedelia’s missing leg, Mr. Crawford’s sunken eyes, Freddy Lounds unending obsession, Doctor Chilton’s stretched skin. All the people who were forced to participate in  Hannibal Lecters games. And she is going to play willingly. Clarice wonders how much of her will be left.

 

 

”Do your worst Doctor.” She holds her head high. His husband puts his head in his hand and sits down to watch.

 

 

“What’s the worst thing that happened to you as a child?”

 

 

”My father was shot. In the line of duty.” She doesn’t hesitate. 

 

 

“A cop?” Mr. Graham asks. 

 

 

“Yes. Burglary gone wrong. He lasted almost a month. He was strong.” 

 

 

“Like you.” Doctor Lecter notes. 

 

 

“Like me.” She agrees.

 

 

“What did you do after? A mother does her best to protect her children. But I’m sure you felt the loss.” 

 

 

“My mother ran off with her best friend a few weeks after I was born. My dad was all I had. And afterwards I had no one. I was sent to a relatives farm. In Montana. My mother’s cousin. I had never met her.” 

 

 

“Did you live there the rest of your childhood. Will grew up in on a farm Clarice. Another thing you two have in common.” 

 

 

“Only for two months. I ran away.” 

 

 

“Whyever would you do that?” 

 

 

“I woke up in the early morning. Long before dawn.” She recalls. “There was screaming..all around me. A child’s voice. I went for my window. I tried to see. There was just...darkness.”

 

 

”What did you do then?”

 

 

“I ran to the barn. Barefoot. Still in my nightgown. I wanted to leave then but I couldn’t. I needed to help her. I needed to see.”  

 

 

“What was in that barn Clarice? Who was screaming?” 

 

 

Clarice can’t answer. Recalling this night on her own has left her shaken. Being forced to bare it to these men is more awful than she ever imagined.

 

 

“Not who Hannibal.” Mr. Graham cuts in. “What. I know ranches. Was it lambs Starling?” 

 

 

“They were slaughtering them.” She takes a deep breath and continues. “The poor spring lambs.” 

 

 

“Did you lose your nerve and flee?” Doctor Lecter asks. 

 

 

“ _No_. I tried to free them. The pen was open the, path was clear. But they just stood stock still. Tiny, innocent, and so confused.  I could only carry one. It was freezing Doctor Lecter. And he was heavy. I didn’t make it. The Sherrif found me. The rancher sent me to the foster system. That’s where I spent my childhood.”

 

 

“And your lamb...?” He presses. She is silent. He knows what her silence means.

 

 

“That’s why you joined the FBI.” Mr Graham accuses. “You still wake up in a cold sweat and hear them screaming. It haunts you.” 

 

 

“Do you think, by saving another innocent you could make them stop? Quiet those voices..” Doctor Lecter wonders.

 

 

”I don’t know. I know I have to try. I’ve alwaus tried. I’ll keep trying even if  they scream after Catherine” She sneaks a look at her watch. “Are we running out of time Clarice?” He asks. 

 

 

“Yes Doctor. I think so.”

 

 

”Thank you.” He sighs. “If I don’t get the chance to tell you that again. Thank you for what you’ve done for us.” He pauses “ When I knew Jill she was going by Jame Gumb. Look to your first victim and her family. Find her from there. Jill won’t have moved away from where she killed that first girl. I _promise_ you that.” 

 

 

“Starling!” Mr. Graham calls as she reaches the gate.

 

 

“Yes Mr. Graham?” She turns around.

 

 

“Good luck.” 

 

 

She’d silenced her phone when she’d gone inside. When she turns it back on now she finds two recently missed calls from Mr. Crawford. Clarice calls him back pushing the thought that she’d just bared her soul to Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham fo the back of her mind.  

 

 

“Starling? Are you at still in Baltimore?” He asks when she picks up.

 

 

”Yes. Are you sitting down? Crawford I’ve got news!”

 

 

”Starling. Stay where you are. We found her. Her name Jane Gumb. A witness identified her having lunch with the fourth victim. Records show this bitch has a beach house in Delaware. And she’s a real piece of work. Killed her grandparents when she was seventeen. Sealed child records. We’re on our way now. Go back to Quantico and wait for us there.” 

 

 

“No..Crawford..Doctor Lecter showed me.  He said Jane _cared_ about her first victim. Knew her personally. She wouldn’t have moved away from where they knew each other. The first victim lived in a suburb of Annapolis. That’s only a forty minutes away from Baltimore. I have to go.” 

 

 

“Doctor Lecter has no reason _not_ to mislead you now that he has what he wants Starling.” 

 

 

“He wouldn’t lie to me.” 

 

 

“And why’s that Starling? Forgive me if I’m not confident in the moral code of a serial killer.” 

 

 

“I struck a deal for more information Crawford. I told them something....Some  thing I’ve never opened up about before. Doctor Lecter saw how affected I was. He’d consider it rude to exploit me after that.” Crawford goes silent. He hasn’t hung up though. She can still hear him, breathing into the phone. 

 

 

“You need to go back to Quantico right now. I’ll call Doctor Du Maurier and have her meet you in her office. Agent Starling you’re not..making sense. I don’t trust that you’re in a state to make good judgement. Bedelia will make the final call but you’re _not_ going to Annapolis tonight.” Crawford sounds genuinely worried. That scares her, but not enough to back down.

 

 

”All due respect. We don’t have time for this Sir!” She shouts switching him to speaker as she buckles up and pulls out into the road. 

 

 

“Starling don’t you dare.” He warns her. “Even if Jane is in Annapolis! Which she’s not. You can’t do this alone. This woman has killed five people, _six_ if Hannibal’s not lying through his teeth about Raspail. At least wait for me to send you backup.” He pleads. 

 

 

“There’s no time Crawford.” She tells him, before hanging up and throwing her phone into the backseat. She can hear the ringing all the way to Annapolis. Clarice lets it ring.

 

 

She finds herself sitting on the Bimmel families upholstery a little past ten PM. Fredrica Bimmel’s parents sit on either side of her. Her younger sister Delia Bimmel sits on the floor picking at a loose stitch in the rug.

 

 

“I just don’t understand why you need to speak with us again.” Fredrica’s mother says, close to crying. 

 

 

“It’s so late..” Her father adds. “Delia should be in bed.” 

 

 

“I’m so sorry to bother you Ma’am, Sir. But we have new information on your daughters killer. And I need to ask you a question.” 

 

 

“Anything to catch that son of a bitch.” Fredrica’s father nods.

 

 

“Did Fredrica have a girlfriend?” Clarice asks before she loses her nerve. The room around her is filled with bible quotes and religious imagery. If Fredrica and Jane were involved it’s possible her parents don’t know. 

 

 

“The hell kind of question is that?” Her father mumbles.

 

 

”What my husband is trying to say is that..well Fredrica was a normal girl. She loved makeup! And sewing dresses! Our family doesn’t believe in... _lesbianism_. Fredrica liked men.”

 

 

”Mrs. Bimmel-” Clarice begins. 

 

 

“Agent?” Delia says softly. Her mother shushes her but the young woman is insistent. “Agent?” 

 

 

“Yes Delia.” 

 

 

“My sister _was_ dating a girl.” She blurts out. You could hear a pin drop in the room as Delia continues. “She was..older than Fred. Late thirties. They were in a sewing club together..With this lady Agatha Wilson.” 

 

 

“This just isn’t possible!” Fredrica’s mom protests. “We would know. She would have _told_ us!” 

 

 

“Why do you think she didn’t!” Delia accuses. “Fredrica knew your opinions. She was terrified! She thought you’d be angry with her!” 

 

 

“She’s my baby.” Mrs. Bimmel sobs. “I would have loved her anyways!” Clarice can’t stand the sound. She turns her attention back to Delia as Mr. Bimmel comforts his wife.

 

 

“Delia. Was your sisters girlfriend named Jane?” 

 

 

“Yes.” Delia looks surprised. “Jane Gumb. How did you know?” 

 

 

“Alright. Do you know where Jane lives now?” 

 

 

“She sold her apartment after Delia went missing. I didn’t think she could stand to see me everyday...and know that I couldn’t mourn with her. Miss Wilson might know. She was an old widow. Lived by herself. Very eccentric but Fredrica and Jane trusted her.” 

 

 

“What’s Miss Wilson’s adress?”

 

 

“1274 Oak.” Delia answers. Clarice feels that familiar twinge of hope. 

 

 

The house is run down. Weeds have filled the once proud flowerbeds and the roof needs new shingles. It doesn’t look like anyone’s lived here in years. Clarice knocks anyways. She’s about to kick in the door when it opens. A woman stands behind the door, in a paisley kimono and a sports bra staring at her from behind a chain.

 

 

“What are you doing here?” She yawns. “It’s so late...” 

 

 

“I don’t mean to bother you. But I really need to find Agatha Wilson.” 

 

 

“I can’t help you. She moved out last year.” The woman runs her fingers through her sleek head of hair. It’s a common tell. She’s lying. 

 

 

“Well then I’ll just have to ask the questions I have for Miss Wilson to you. Do you know Fredrica Bimmel?  The woman’s eyes go wide and then fade back to normal. She takes an aggressive posture overcompensating for her accidental display of emotion. 

 

 

“Was she a great big _fat_ person?” 

 

 

“Fredrica was beautiful.” Clarice tells her. “Toffee colored skin and curls that went all the way down to her waist.” The woman behind the door looks like she’s about to burst into tears.

 

 

“On second thought. I might have Agatha’s new number. Would you like to come inside while I find it?”  She offers.

 

 

A tiny moth flutters out from between the space in the door and unto the porch, heading for the dimly blinking  overhead light. That’s when Clarice knows for sure. _Hello_ _Jane_. She thinks as she follows her inside.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarice and Catherine fight to bring Jane down. A transfer at the BSHCI doesn’t go as planned.

 “The woman who lived here before me, she has a grandson in Baltimore.  I can find you his card. It’s just in here.” Jane calls over her shoulder as she walks into the cluttered kitchen. Clarice follows close behind. “Sorry for the mess. It’s been a busy few months...”

 

 

“That’s alright.” 

 

 

“Who sent you?” She wonders fiddling with her hair again. 

 

 

“I’m FBI.” Clarice answers.

 

 

Jane’s plastered smile droops, just a little. “You’re here about that _awful_ business with Fredrica Bimmel aren’t you? I thought you might just be an old friend. But if you’re FBI....” She opens a drawer, carefully picking through a messy arrary of business cards. “Are you close to catching who did it, do you think. Find any of his DNA?” 

 

 

“Oh we’re very close. None of _her_ DNA. That won’t be necessary.” 

 

 

”You think the person who killed the Bimmel girl is a woman?” Jane picks a business card off the top of a stack and pretends to be surprised as she walks to Clarice, bare feet padding softly on the tile.  

 

 

“The woman who killed Fredrica knew her for a long time. Saw her every day, as often as she could, and for as long as she could.” Clarice explains. “It’s more common with female killers, they know their victims. Men hunt. Women surround themselves. Many care about their victims. Deeply.” 

 

 

“Can’t have been that deep though. She murdered her. _Skinned_ her.” Jane hands her the card.

 

 

“She cared about Fredrica.” Clarice repeats. Jane’s eyes flick to the gun peeking out of Clarice’s waistband. She has it out and aimed, safety off before the other woman can blink. They both know the game is up. “ _You_ cared about Fredrica.” 

 

 

“I still do.” Jane frowns letting her hands drop to her side. “Fredrica showed me my _purpose_. I’m only sorry she couldn’t be alive to see it.” She raises her head eyes shining in a brilliant fervor. 

 

 

“You’ve tried things like this before, to get rid of the boredom. The thrill won’t  last forever.” 

 

 

“You don’t understand.” Jane shrugs. “It’s different this time. This time I am truly _alive_.” She begins to back away, slowly making her way towards the kitchen and out of view.

 

 

“Jane Gumb! You’re under arrest for the murder of Fredrica Bimmel. Put your hands in the air and walk towards me, _slowly_.” Jane let’s out a heavy sigh and does as she’s told. For a wonderful moment Clarice think it’ll all be over. Then Jane ducks into an alcove Clarice hadn’t notice and sprints down a long set of stairs. “ _Hey_!” She yells after her. “Get your ass up here or I’ll shoot!” There’s no reply, Clarice goes down.

 

 

The basement is lit by flickering fairylights and an army of fragrant candles on a vanity, wax dripping down their sides. Clarice steps carefully around a ratty white couch gun held out, but Jane has vanished. There’s a sound coming from behind a curtain. An animal like keening. At first Clarice thinks it’s just in her head, it sounds so much like the lambs she’s trying to quiet. And then she remembers,   _Catherine._ Clarice pushes past the curtain and finds herself in a large room, empty except for a dirt pit in the middle. Catherine is at the bottom, shivering in a soiled nightgown. The golden curls that were so pretty in her missing posters are matted. There’s tear tracks carving paths along her dirt stianed face. She puts the gun down.

 

 

“Oh god! Get me out of here!” Catherine  shrieks.

 

 

“Catherine. My name is Clarice Starling. I’m with the FBI. You’re safe. I’m going to get you out of there but first I need you to take a deep breath. Stay calm.”

 

 

“Stay calm? Stay _calm_! I’ve been trapped  in a dirt pit by a homicidal maniac with nothing to do but scream and rub lotion on my tits for two days!” Catherine is dangerously close to hysteria. “I’m starving and I’m exhausted! I don’t care if you’re FBI or the freaking Virgin Mary! You don’t get to tell _me_ to calm down!”  

 

 

“Catherine. You have to be quiet or Jane is  going to hear us.” She warns. “Is there a way to get down there? A ladder? A rope?” 

 

 

Catherine lowers her voice. “There’s a rope! She uses it to lower the lotion sometimes.” Clarice finds the rope in the corner, secured by a metal hook that’s been dug deep into the hardpacked dirt ground. She takes the end and peers over the edge at Catherine. “Listen Catherine. I’m going to pull you out. You’re going to need to use the wall alright?” Catherine nods. Clarice respects the fire in her eyes. 

 

 

It takes more time than Clarice is comfortable with to pull Catherine from the depths. There’s no way to tell what Jane could be doing while Clarice’s hands are rubbed raw with rope burn. When it’s over Catherine clings to her shoulder and sobs. She can’t let Catherine sit still for long no matter how much they both deserve it. They have to move before Jane comes back. The two women climb the stairs, Clarice carefully maneuvering Catherine’s bare feet around the exposed nails. She reaches for the doorknob and it doesn’t budge. Catherine tries next shaking frantically, it’s no use. The door is locked. Clarice scans the room for windows and there’s no other exits. They’re trapped. 

 

 

“Shit. We’re _both_ gonna die down here.” Catherine laughs.

 

 

”Like hell we are. Jane has the keys. We’ll just have to find her.” Clarice says trying not to dwell on the possibility that Jane slipped out of the basement during her botched rescue.

 

 

Catherine makes a beeline for the vanity, picking up a metal candlestick. She throws it up to test the weight and seeming satisfied returns to Clarice, sheltering herself behind her as they pass from the first room into a narrow hallway. They come upon  a blue door, knocked slightly off its hinges. Clarice kicks it the rest of the way open with her foot. 

 

 

“Stay here.” She tells Catherine. “I’ll go see if there’s something we can use.” Catherine nods and assumes a defensive position candlestick poised for attack. Clarice enters into a blue tile bathroom that looks like it hasn’t seen an update since the 1950’s. The sink is crusted over with rust stains. There’s a freestanding bath tub inside with a grimy rubber duck print shower curtain. Clarice listens for Jane, hears nothing but the sound of her own labored breathing and racing heart. She yanks the curtain aside with one hand, gun trained to the middle of the tub with the other. She sees nothing at first, and then she looks down. 

 

 

Theres a body of an old woman sitting in the tub stark naked except for a gold wristwatch and gaudy pieces of costume jewelry. It’s not the first dead body Clarice has seen. But it certainly tells a new story. She’s not a recent corpse, little more than a skeleton with tufts of white hair sticking to her skull. Miss Wilson never left. As she leaves Clarice catches sight of a face in the reflection of the cracked bathroom mirror. She’s so startled she almost shoots, until she realizes it’s her own. The eyebags Mr. Graham had pointed  out are all the more visible, her reddish brown bangs are plastered to her forehead with sweat. 

 

 

“Did you find anything?” Catherine hisses from outside. Clarice leaves the mirror and goes back into the hallway.

 

 

”No. nothing.” She lies and they move on, pressed back to back. Clarice watching the front Catherine bringing up the rear. The next room they enter has  pale pink wallpaper and a plastic chandelier hung from the low ceiling. Habitats full of moths line the tables against the back wall. At first Clarice thinks the pile at the end of the room are more corpses, until she gets closer and realizes they’re just mannequins with realistic painted faces. She’s about to let out a sigh of relief when she realizes Catherine is gone from her side. Clarice turns around to find her staring, horrified at a mannequin in the center of the room, lit up by a makeshift spotlight. Clarice runs to her, clutching  her hand and pulling her away from the gore.

 

 

Her mind flashes back to the Bimmels kitchen, Delia telling her about Miss Wilson, the kind older widow with the heart of gold. Miss Wilson Jane and Fredrica’s closest confidant. Miss Wilson who owned a sewing club. Miss Wilson who owned the mannequin that is now being used to house a women’s suit made entirely out of human _skin_. Clarice looks at the brown shoulder trim a contrast against the light cream of the rest of the suit and feels the bile rise in her throat. Fredrica’s purpose.

 

 

”That sick bitch wanted  my skin!” Catherine is shocked. “She was going to skin me!” She continues voice raising. “She was going to _wear_ me!” 

 

 

“Catherine...” Clarice puts a hand over her mouth to quiet her but it’s too late. She screams and it’s at that very moment the lights cut out. They are left standing in absolute darkness. She thinks about the candles, on the vanity in the room next to the stairs. It’s a risk, to move in the dark when Jane could be anywhere. That’s where they’ll have to go. 

 

 

They creep back through the halls Catherine’s nails digging into the exposed skin of Clarice’s arm. Catherine trips as they pass through the doorway, feet away from the prospect of light. And there in the swivel chair by the vanity is Jane, silhouetted in soft candlelight wearing night vision goggles. She notices Clarice and waves demurely with her own gun, a silver pistol she must have  picked up sometime after they’d seperated.

 

 

“Hello again Agent.” Jane is so preoccupied with Clarice she doesn’t notice Catherine’s emergence from the shadows behind her until it’s too late.

 

 

Later Clarice will learn that Catherine is  a budding softball superstar. Her superior swing is known all across Eastwood College and far beyond. Right then all she knows is Catherine swings her candlestick and Jane Gumb falls to the ground with a sickening thud, her night vision goggles knocked somewhere into the darkness. Catherine lets out string of expletives and straddles Jane before she can recover, thighs wrapped around her throat, landing blow after blow.

 

 

Jane manages to throw a lucky elbow that sends Catherine reeling. She jumps to her feet and snatches the pistol from the vanity. And suddenly they’re circling each other in the dark. Clarice and Jane with their firearms and Catherine with a dented metal candlestick that’s got nothing on the dent it left in Jane’s forehead.

 

 

“Jane. Put the gun down.” Clarice pleads. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.” 

 

 

“I do.” Catherine growls. “I want to fucking kill you! For what you did to me! And all those other girls!” 

 

 

“Give yourself up. I’ll take you into custody and make sure you’re treated fairly. No one else has to get hurt.”

 

 

Jane doesn’t answer either of them. In the silence, Clarice hears the click of a safety being turned off. 

 

 

“Catherine! Get behind me!” Clarice yells.

 

 

She closes her eyes and listens, thinks she hears the soft padding of bare feet to their right. Clarice closes her eyes and squeezes the trigger. Her risk pays off.  Jane lets out a soft oompfh. She hears the sound of a gun clattering to the floor. There’s no way to tell where’s she’s been hit or if it will keep her down Clarice fires again and here’s a scream, the heavy thud of a body, and then nothing. 

 

 

She crawls on her hands and knees until she feels blood, sticky between her fingertips. She follows the trail to Jane, feels blindly until she finds the key ring in the pocket of her kimono. Jane doesn’t react. 

 

 

She stumbles to the vanity and uses a candle to light her way to the top of the stairwell, struggling to fit the key in the lock. When it _finally_ opens a sliver of light illuminates the room and she can see Catherine holding herself, rocking back and forth, and Jane’s dead body laying in two pools of blood. The first shot hit her in the abdomen. The second, right between her eyes. 

 

 

Later, when Catherine and Clarice are sitting together on the curb, bundled up in police blankets Clarice cries for the woman Jane Gumb could have been. 

 

 

Crawford arrives two hours later and lifts Clarice’s petite frame off the ground as he hugs her. She’s stiff in his arms, he’s never touched her before. 

 

 

“You were right.” He huffs after he lets her go. 

 

 

“I had to trust my gut Sir. Doctor Lecter didn’t lie.” She says as she dusts herself off.

 

 

“This isn’t on a win for him Clarice. It’s one for you. You were reckless, irresponsible and complety boneheaded but you knew you had to save that girl. So you went against direct orders and did it anyways. You rescued Catherine Martin  and took Jane down, all by yourself.” 

 

 

“Catherine isn’t your typical damsel in distress.” Clarice snorts, looking at the other end of the driveway where Catherine is having a tearful reunion with her mother. “That girl has a mean right  hook.”

 

 

”Come on.” Crawford lays a friendly hand on her shoulder. “The senator wants to meet you.” 

 

 

Ardelia pampers her that night, with face masks and a bubble bath and French braids. Even after all of that Clarice doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep alone. So  they  cuddle in her bed, drink herbal tea, and watch home decorating shows on HGTV until her eyelids droop.

 

 

Clarice wakes up to breakfast in bed two jugs full of orange juice, French toast, and crispy Canadian bacon, exactly as burnt as she likes it. 

 

 

“How’s my hero doing this morning?” Ardelia teases. Clarice groans and burrows deeper into the covers.

 

 

“That depends. How late did I sleep in?”

 

 

“It’s nearly eleven. Don’t worry. Crawford gave me the day off to play nurse for you. I went to the grocery store to get some of this. You’ve been so preoccupied with the case our fridge was nearly barren.” 

 

 

“Oh my god Ardelia. What day is it.” 

 

 

“Monday? February the 14th? Why?” 

 

 

“How bad is it.” 

 

 

“How bad is what?” Clarice sighs. Her roommate has an awful poker face. 

 

 

“Don’t play dumb Ardelia. The Tattlecrime article!” 

 

 

Ardelia winces. “Trust me Clary. You don’t want to know. Let’s focus on something else....” 

 

 

“Ardelia twelve hours ago I was standing in a murder basement looking at a half finished suit made completely out of human skin. I don’t think anything could shock me right now.”

 

 

”Happy Valentine’s Day!” Ardelia shouts still frantically trying to change the subject. She pulls out a box of chocolates from her side of the bed. Clarice states at the square shaped box, dumbfounded. Ardelias picked her up a lifetime supply of VSC liquor infused  cremes. “I know you usually aren’t one for drinking Clarice but come _on_. Today seems like an exception.” She wiggles the box in Clarice’s face.  

 

 

“I don’t think so Arderlia.” Clarice grins. “But Bedelia? She’s going to have a field day with these.” Just as she’s finished talking Ardelia has to put the box down to hand Clarice her ringing phone from the bedside table. It’s Bedelia. 

 

 

“Speak of the devil.” Ardelia laughs. “I left your card in the car. I’ll just go get it.” 

 

 

“Hey Doctor Du Maurier! I can do a session this afternoon. My roommate bought me liquor chocolates, I thought i’d regift them to you.” 

 

 

“How _kind_ of you Clarice.” The voice on the other end of the line answers, honey smooth and heavily accented. It’s _not_ Bedelia. “I’m afraid Bedelia already has plans for today. 

 

 

“Doctor Lecter?” Clarice whispers, horrified. 

 

 

“Yes Clarice?” 

 

 

“How the hell did you get Bedelia’s phone.” 

 

 

“Oh she just handed it to me. Doctor Du Maurier can be quite accommodating when she wants to be.” 

 

 

“She’s visiting you?” 

 

 

“On the contrary, I’m calling on her. Sitting in an all too familiar armchair. Will by my side. It brings back such memories. Bedelia tells me you chose this chair, at your first session.”

 

 

“You escaped.” She realizes.

 

 

”A hour or so ago, yes we did. You see just before Will’s transfer I began to complain of heart palpitations. Barney came down to check on us. He was distraught. And then Will, he’s amazing at feigning hysteria started begging to be allowed to follow me to the infirmary. Barney has a big heart Clarice. I suspect he was still a little loopy on his flu meds because he readily agreed. Anyways he put me on a gurney and was fastening Will to his own. He hadn’t bothered to tie my hands down yet so..”

 

 

”Did you kill him?” Clarice interrupts imagining Barney’s gentle eyes gone empty. 

 

 

“No Clarice. I nicked the pentobarbital from his back pocket and administered the same sedative he was going to give me. He treated me fairly down in Chiltons dungeon. He’ll wake up completely fine. Maybe even feeling well rested. Doctor Chilton on the other hand will not be so lucky.”

 

 

“The code.” She remembers, Barney’s mile long monstrosity “How did you get out of general wing?” 

 

 

“The temporary orderly they had fill in for Barney was the forgetful type. She had it taped the door. It was very convienent actually, we were prepared to wait and take hostages. We took Chiltons keys and drove straight to Doctor Du Mauriers house. He has an impressive car, for such an underwhelming man. I wanted to make a detour to get out of these awful prison jumpsuits but Will insisted.” 

 

 

“Doctor Lecter. Don’t hurt Bedelia.” 

 

  

“I like you Clarice. Not enough to deny Will this. He’s been looking forward to it.” 

 

 

“Why? When you killed with Will on the run, your victims weren’t just people that irritated you. His file says he only let you two go after, for a lack of a better term, bad guys.” 

 

 

“That’s all relative though, isn’t it? The families of our victims didn’t always agree with our classification.” 

 

 

“ _Nobody_  that knows her would call Doctor Du Maurier a bad woman. She’s devoted her life to helping people, _really_ helping them.” 

 

 

“I see that bait Clarice. I’m not going to take it. Will’s jealous, that I let Bedelia get so close to me behind the veil during our time traveling through Europe together.” 

 

 

“Traveling together is an odd synonym for _kidnapping_ Doctor Lecter.” She retorts. 

 

 

“The real story is more complicated than the criminal charges would have you believe.” Doctor Lecter tsks. “I think you would be more open to understanding. If you heard this from Doctor Du Maurier. The line goes silent and when it’s picked up again it’s Bedelia. Clarice is surprise to find she doesn’t sound panicked. Then again Bedelia has lots of practice at keeping her cool.

 

 

“Clarice. Stay calm.” 

 

 

“Doctor Du Maurier. I’m going to have my roommate call Crawford. Hang on, we’re going to get you out of there.” 

 

 

“You’re on speakerphone Starling.” Mr. Graham warns from the background. 

 

 

“Clarice.” Bedelia sighs. “Please don’t.” 

 

 

“Why the hell not!” She yells. Ardelia ducks her head back into the room, card in hand, looking more than concerned. 

 

 

“Hannibal is right. I haven’t been entirely honest with the authorities or with my colleagues about what happened all those years ago in Europe. I haven’t been honest about myself in general. You need to understand something Clarice. I _am_ one of Hannibal Lecter’s victims. But I have never been the innocent I portrayed myself as. I knew what Hannibal was, long before I knew he was the Ripper.” 

 

 

“How?” 

 

 

“Because I saw it in myself. Buried deep but everpresent. I am a monster, even if I do not act on the urges as they do. I am the same as them. Do you understand what I’m saying?” 

 

 

“No. But Bedelia. You’re not the same. You’ve done so much good. I don’t accept it.” 

 

 

“I told you at our most recent session that I don’t spend my life waiting for Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter to finish the job. I told you that I would be ready if they did. This was true. You interpreted that as being ready to _fight_. That’s not what I meant. Clarice I am ready for surrender. And what you really need to know-” The phone is snatched before she can finish her thought. Clarice will always wonder what she was going to say.

 

 

“Starling.” Mr. Graham begins. “I’m going to make you an offer very similar to the one my husband made Alana Boom. Don’t come looking for us. Hannibal appreciates you. Hell, so do I. Without your bargains we couldn’t have escaped. We will make no plans to call on you. If you come after us now? I swear to god you’ll never be left alone.” Then there’s a click and the line goes silent for good. 

 

 

“What the hell is going on?” Ardelia asks. 

 

 

“Doctor Lecter and Mr. Graham have escaped custody, _again.”_ Clarice jumps out of bed scanning the room for her gun and badge. She doesn’t see them. “Call Mr. Crawford and have EMT’s sent to Baltimore. I think Chilton’s dead.”

 

 

”Where are you going?” The screams inside her head are so piercing Clarice wants to curl into a ball and cry. 

 

 

“I have to save Doctor Du Maurier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and constructive criticism is much appreciated! :))


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarice goes to help Bedelia.  
> Trigger warnings: attempted suicide? Kinda?
> 
> This is probably the most ooc chapter just because even if canon Hannibal and Will might risk getting recaptured by going after Bedelia so soon, [We didn’t see the exact timeline from the fall to the leg scene in the aftercredits] calling Clarice is kind of a big dumbass move and if Hannibal wanted to brag he’d probably wait until it was safer. That said this is purely an exercise in plot convenience.

“Clarice have you lost your fucking mind!” Ardelia shouts. “I know you’re on a high from yesterday. You have every right to be! Girl you’re a badass. But you’re not a superhuman. You can’t take these two out on your own!”

 

 

“I have to try! Ardelia you don’t get it. This is my fault. I pushed them. I pushed so hard for that damn transfer! Bedelia warned me! I was just too full of myself to listen.”

 

 

”Ok? The solution still isn’t chasing after two murderous cannibals! We have no idea what their endgame is. You’re still wearing pajamas for crying out loud! Think about this. Send a dispatch to Bedelia’s house!” Ardelia pleads.

 

 

”What, and have more people die over something I caused? No way.” Clarice shakes her head. “There’s a possibility Doctor Lecter and Mr. Graham might listen to me. Or at least that I can stall them long enough for a team to get there. If it’s someone they don’t know? They’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

 

 

“They’ll still kill you Clarice. You know that, right? Lecter and Graham are _psychopaths_. If they think you’re getting in the way they won’t hesitate.” Ardelia’s eyes harden as she realizes Clarice isn’t going to listen.

 

 

“Where’s my gun and badge?” Clarice asks.

 

 

“I can’t give you those. Sit down Clarice before you make a mistake. You’re not thinking clearly.” Ardelia warns.

 

 

“Ardelia we’re wasting time Doctor-”

 

 

Sit. Or I’ll have to _make_ you.” Clarice reluctantly complies, staring daggers at her roommate as Ardelia fishes her phone out of her pocket.

 

 

“Sir this is trainee agent Mapp.” She turns around to talk to Crawford. “I have reason to believe Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham have escaped from the BSHCI We need to send a team there with an EMT over there immediately.”

 

 

Clarice stands up and prepares to make a  break for it just as Ardelia spins around. Her eyes go wide with realization, the phone still frozen at her ear. As Clarice runs past her Ardelia’s hands catch on the hem of her T-shirt and tug. Clarice can here Crawford voice, confused by the sound of the scuffle on the other end of the line. She prays for forgiveness and sweeps Ardelia’s legs out from underneath her. Her roommate hits the ground.

 

 

“ _Wait_!” She hears Ardelia calling from the bedroom as she’s quickly searching the kitchen. There’s no sign of her gun here either. Clarice goes for the next best thing, the hutch full of steak knives. She grabs her keys out of the bucket on the entryway table and sprints out the door and down the stairs of her duplex.

 

 

She has the keys in the ignition, foot on the gas pedal, by the time  Ardelia’s stricken face appears at the top of the stairs. She loses what her roommate is screaming over the roar of her engine and the screeching inside her skull.

 

 

The roads are near empty. Clarice takes them at 15 miles over the local speed limit. She’s been on the road for about half an hour when her phone buzzes in her pocket knocking against the metal of the knife she’s stashed there. She pulls it out, barely watching the road. _Crawford_.

 

 

“Seventy-nine Starling.“ He thunders once she’s put him on speaker and tosses her phone into the passengers seat.

 

 

“I’m sorry what?”

 

 

“I said seventy-nine. That’s the number of murder convictions Hannibal and Will have under their belts. Easily triple digits once you factor in the ones we weren’t able to pin them for. Don’t be number eighty Starling. After what you did yesterday I’m willing to overlook this stunt.  Turn around immediately and I won’t have you thrown out of the Academy.”

 

 

“Sir. If I turn around Bedelia Du Maurier becomes the eightieth.”

 

 

“I’m sending people out there! Those people just aren’t _you_. I’m not leaving Doctor Du Maurier to die Starling.”

 

 

“You and I both know Doctor Lecter and Mr. Graham will have already killed her by the time you get people out there! Your team might be able to lock them up, but not without losing Bedelia! They’re going to need to get body armor and weapons. It’s a forty minute drive from Quantico! You’re an hour at the very least.”

 

 

“In a quarter mile make a right on Kensington Avenue. In 200 feet the destination is on your left!” Her GPS chipperly announces.

 

 

“I’ll be there in two minutes. I’m not turning around.”

 

 

”Trainee Agent Mapp still has your gun. You’re going in completely unarmed.” Crawford sputters.

 

 

“Doctor Lecter and Mr. Graham love talking. And if all else fails, I have a knife.”

 

  

There’s a new car in the driveway, next to Bedelias Mini Cooper. It must be Chilton’s neon orange Nissan GT-R. Suitably flashy, Clarice finds she agrees with Doctor Lecter’s assesment. Today no one greets her at the door. Clarice knocks, softly at first and then much more insistent. 

 

 

“The door is unlocked Clarice!” Doctor Lecter calls from somewhere inside. She opens the door and rushes inside past the entryway and to Bedelia’s living room. The armchairs are empty. The sofa  in the back corner is decidedly not. Doctor Lecter sits on the far left, his husband curled into his side, more content than Clarice has ever seen him even though he must know the odds of him getting recaptured grow each moment he sits idle. Mr. Graham smiles at her, an easy natural grin. Clarice thinks it would be very like them to make sure that at least one part of their bodies are touching at all times, just to make up for the time they’ve lost.

 

 

 

 Bedelia is on the right, dressed in the same glittering gown she wore the evening they met at the Christmas Party. The outfit looks even more out of place among the prison attire of the two men, Her eyeshadow is crimson red, lips painted to match. There’s a box of Godiva truffles in heart shaped packaging plastic packaging sitting open on the coffee table in front of them, next to a glass of wine. As Clarice approaches Hannibal leans forward and takes a chocolate popping it into his mouth as she centers herself between them. None of them make any moves to grab her.

  

 

”Hey Starling.” Mr. Graham  waves. “‘Nice pajamas.” 

 

 

“That’s our girl!” Doctor Lecter grins. “I’m afraid Doctor Du Maurier owes us her other leg now.” Clarice’s face falls. 

 

 

“He’s just joking.” His husband apologizes. 

 

 

“I knew you would come Clarice.” Bedelia smiles sadly.

 

 

“Doctor Lecter. If you leave now you might be able to make it before the roadblocks. Staying behind to kill Bedelia will guarantee your capture.” Clarice warns.

 

 

Doctor Lecter shakes his head. “We’ve already killed Bedelia. It’s thoughtful of you to worry about our escape, although it won’t be an issue. What was it that Doctor Chilton called us Will?”

 

 

”Slippery.” He snorts. 

 

 

“Hannibal handed me the pentobarbital maybe fifty or so minutes ago.” Bedelia  yawns slurring gently. “I took it orally. The median reaction time is twenty to forty minutes. It seems I built up a tolerance.” She tries to take a sip of her wine and liquid sloshes over the edge of the glass and unto the hardwood floor. Clarice kneels by her side and checks her pulse. Her heartrate is much too low.

 

 

“As done at euthanasia clinics in the Netherlands I offered Bedelia eat some chocolate to cope with the bitter tast. She insisted on pairing it with a glass of wine.” He tells Clarice. I’ve _told_  you not to mix barbiturates with alcohol Bedelia!. It messes with the process and it’s probably why you haven’t  drifted off yet.” Doctor Lecter rolls his eyes.

 

 

”I don’t want to drift off yet Hannibal.” Bedelia snaps. “I have things I don’t wish to leave unsaid. 

 

 

“Fair. Will and I are going to pick over your kitchen over for meat worth eating. You two may have your private moment.” Doctor Lecter smiles and pulls his husband to his feet. “We won’t be out of earshot.” Clarice doesn’t protest. Every moment that passes in idle conversation is one moment closer to backup. Doctor Lecter winks at her as they walk past, hand in hand. 

 

 

“Clarice.” Bedelia starts.

 

 

“Shh shh.” Clarice whispers  “Save your strength. Don’t try to talk. Let me call you an ambulance before they get back.”

 

 

“ _No_ ” Bedelia lunges forward filled with a grabbing unto Clarice’s shirt with both hands. “You’re not calling anyone.” Clarice tries to pry her fingers away, Bedelia has a vicelike grip.

 

 

“You’ll die if I don’t!” She protests.

 

 

“I’ll still die if you do. Because I _chose_ this Clarice. Long long before you came into the picture. The moment I accepted Hannibal’s help my path was set. He appreciates the dramatic Clarice. He could have easily taken me out with a kitchen knife and been on his merry way.” She smiles feebly. “But when I suggested this he agreed that it was far more fitting. Poor tortured Bedelia Du Maurier found dead in her living room of a self induced overdose, holding a glass of wine. What a scandal....”

 

”You _suggested_ this?”

 

 

“Far less painful than whatever imaginative end he had in mind. I’m sure it wasn’t a kitchen knife. Hannibal would find that too blasé.”

 

 

“Jesus Christ Bedelia. _Why_!”

 

 

“The devils are out in the world. Free to wreak havoc in the streets once more. I’ve fought against what lies in myself and what lies in others for decades. I am too tired to go through it all again.”

 

 

“That’s what they want Bedelia! They want you to give in. They want you to give up. You can’t give them that satisfaction!”

 

 

“And _you_ can’t save everyone Clarice.” Bedelia looks up her eyes filled with sudden clarity. “I’ve been living my life for years as happily as I can, armed with the terrible knowledge that Hannibal and Will could ruin me with all the things they know I’ve done. For whatever reason they have chosen not to. That doesn’t change the fact that I have _killed_ Clarice. And been complicit in  murders. I’ve tried to be the best person I could be, in spite of my failings. I would have been perfectly fine to go on with my life. But they’ve come back. And I will not fight.”

 

 

“Bedelia!” She pleads.

 

 

“Look at what they’ve done to you Clarice. In such a short time! Already dug up your deepest childhood trauma! Gave you the biggest break of your career and then snatched it away by baiting you out here! I’ve known Hannibal for nearly twenty years and-” 

 

 

Clarice cuts her off with the only thing she can think to do. She shoves her fingers down Bedelia’s throat hedging her bets on a gag reflex, to bring up at least some of the lethal dose. Bedelia shoves her away with one final burst of energy and falls limp, into the couch cushions. Clarice hits the ground and the knife slips  out of her pocket clattering across the floor. She picks it up and holds it in front of her as she walks to the kitchen intent on confrontation. 

 

 

The scene she finds before her is laughably domestic. Doctor Lecter sitting at the kitchen island unwrapping the last of tinfoil from a plate of Bedelia’s leftovers while Mr. Graham pours them glasses of lemonade.

 

 

“Good. I take it Bedelia’s asleep.”

 

 

“Oh, look a steak knife.” Will points out as Clarice enters. “Classy.” 

 

 

“Most of the turning points in my life with Will feature knives. I hope this will be another one.” Doctor specter watches, probably curious about what she’ll try.

 

 

“Do you think you could do it Starling? Stabbing is a much more violent death than gunshots.” Mr. Graham tells her. “How did you feel when you killed Jane Gumb? Were your lambs quieter last night? Placated by the sacrifice?” 

 

 

“Not placated, _restless_. I wanted to save Jane.” She retorts. “I didn’t want to have to shoot her. She wasn’t stable enough to be culpable for her actions.”

 

 

“Do you want to save _us_ Clarice?” Doctor Lecter wonders  “Will and I are entirely lucid. That leaves us culpable by your own logic, doesn’t it?”

 

 

“Yes.” She answers softly. 

 

 

“Will promised that if you followed us here you would spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. That hasn’t changed.” Doctor Lecter reminds her. “Though it’s not your fault that your nature couldn’t resist. I thought it would be interesting to test your savior complex further.” 

 

 

“We don’t have time for your games Doctor Lecter. Mr. Crawford and his team will be here any minute.” 

 

 

“I doubt it. You came in your pajamas I don’t think you waited for clearance. Jack is at least thirty minutes behind you.” Mr. Graham guesses. “Anyways, you want them to find you with Bedelia beaming proudly by your side and us tied up on the ground like Saturday morning cartoon villains.” Will laughs. “It can’t happen Starling. You can’t save everyone.”

 

 

“You might manage one, though it would be a thankless task.” Doctor Lecter offers. “There’s charcoal supplements in her cupboard. I saw them while I was fixing my plate. If you so choose we’ll take our meal to go.” Clarices eyes flick to his husband.  

 

 

“You gave us bargains. We thought it was fair to return the favor.” Will shrugs. 

 

 

“What will it be Clarice? Chase us? Save her? Neither are guaranteed so what’s your priority?” Doctor Lecter asks.

 

 

“That’s not a bargain Mr. Graham. It’s an ultimatum. You’re wanted fugitives. I’m not allowed to just let you leave.” She protests.

 

 

“But you will. If you want there to be a possibility of Bedelia’s survival.” Doctor Lecter and Will gets up from their chairs. Clarice moves toward them and then they are circling the island. It’s a shameless repeat of her time with Jane. Only now it’s two against one. Clarice finds she’s less confident even with full vision. She stops. The circle breaks.

 

 

“Get me the supplements.” She sighs.

 

 

”Just one moment.” Doctor Lecter goes to the cabinet and returns with a bottle in hand. He reaches out to hand it to her and she tries to slash at his throat. 

 

 

“ _Hannibal_!” Will shouts.

 

 

Doctor Lecter catches her wrist with his hand, squeezing painfully. Clarice has known from the moment she stepped inside but now she feels it, how deep out of her depth she truly is. 

 

 

“I’m fine dear one.” He assures Will before turning back to Clarice. “Bold as always. I wouldn’t have expected anything less.” 

 

 

“I had to try.” She fights against his grip slowly raising her arm. 

 

 

“I know. You’ll get your chance again.” He smiles playfully. “But today we really must be off. Drop the knife Clarice.” She stares straight into his eyes as they stand deadlocked. She stares back.

 

 

“Starling.” She hears Mr. Graham’s voice low in her ear. Still she doesn’t relent. “What are you even going to do if you get a stab in hmm? I won’t let Hannibal be separated from me again. It won’t even be a fight. It will be a _slaughter_.” He warns her. “Every moment you waste standing here there’s less a chance you’ll be able to save Doctor Du Maurier. Drop the knife Clarice. Go try to make sure you both live to fight another day.” 

 

 

She opens her palm and the knife falls to the floor. She looks between them face full of fire. 

 

 

“So stubborn.” Doctor Lecter shakes his head. 

 

 

“Where will you go?” She asks. 

 

 

“We don’t have time for another stall. Maybe we’ll send you a postcard?” Doctor Lecter says as he passes her. “Thank you again for all that you’ve done. You made the last section of our imprisonment _almost_ tolerable.” It takes all of Clarice’s restraint to let him go. He says something to Will, another Lithuanian phrase, and leaves them alone.

 

 

Mr. Graham looks at Clarice in almost the same way he had the second time she’d walked into his cell and he’d known something had begun. There’s still resignation in his face but today it’s  mingling with a sort of quiet appreciation. 

 

 

“Crawford will forgive you.” He tells her. “If you want him too. He sees the good in everyone. Gives too many chances. Keep your head up Starling.”

 

 

”Mr. Graham-”

 

 

”Until we meet again.”  And then he leaves, lemonade in hand.

 

 

She watches them from the glass walls of Bedelia’s living room as she forces charcoal supplements down her psychiatrists throat. Doctor Lecter’s taken Bedelia’s car keys and he swings them in Will’s face while making some joke Clarice can’t hear through the glass. Their kiss is quick and when they break apart she wonders if either could feel her eyes on their embrace. Neither looks back as they drive away. It feels strangely anticlimactic. Clarice watches until they dissapear around the bend. Only then does she begin to panic.

 

 

She calls an ambulance and sits on the couch Bedelia’s head lulling on her shoulder. Clarice grabs her hand and squeezes tightly, hoping that in some corner of Bedelia’s unconscious mind she can feel that Clarice hasn’t given up. The ambulance beats Crawford by almost four minutes. It takes two technicians  to pry her hand from Bedelia’s. She rants about Mini Coopers and Godiva truffles and cold blue eyes until someone has the bright idea to offer her a sedative. Clarice slaps it away. Crawford arrives furious Ardelia trailing timidly behind. 

 

 

”Where are they!” He’s  shaking her shoulders violently, she’s almost limp in his arms.

 

 

“They took Bedelia’a car. Heading north.” Clarice also manages to tell him the liscence plate for the APB before she collapses.

 

 

She wakes up in a hospital room, held firm by restraints. Later a nurse will tell her they’re there because she’d become semiconscious the afternoon of her admission and panicked, pulling out IV’s and trying to run. Clarice has no memory of that. She lives in limbo for the next week shuffling mindlessly from bed to bathroom, eyes glued to the television screen for any sightings. Ardelia sits a vigil by her side, the black and purple bruise where her head hit the floor of their bedroom a constant reminder of Valentine’s Day. Sometime during the fourth day most of the reporters give up trying for interviews. Freddy Lounds lurks in the lobby until Ardelia calls the  police to escort her out. 

 

 

On the eighth day a frustrated Ardelia drags her from bed and down to the cafeteria for icecream. Clarice can tell she wants them to talk but she’s using all her energy to focus on not crying into her mint chocolate chip.

 

 

Crawford sends her a card wishing her a speedy recovery and letting her know there will be an official inquiry into Clarice’s actions once she’s discharged. Barney brings her sunflowers. 

 

 

When Bedelia wakes the first thing she asks for us Clarice. A nurse walks her to Bedelia’s room and they sit together watching sparrows fly past the window. Silently bound by their shared experiences. 

 

 

“Aren’t you glad to be alive?” Clarice asks her the second time she visits even though she already knows the answer. This time she brought Ardelias liquor cremes and placed them on Bedelia’s bed. The older woman had smiled and unwrapped one right away. 

 

 

“No.” Bedelia sighs. “But I know you couldn’t leave me to die. That’s not who you are.” 

 

 

At night Clarice wakes in cold sweats afraid her head will never be quiet again. She spends those lonely midnight hours thinking about how she is alive purely because Doctor Lecter and Mr. Graham wanted her to be. Bedelia would hypothesize this means she belongs to them. After nine hard nights of self reflection, on the tenth day Clarice realizes she completely disagrees. She is still Clarice Starling, who wants to save as many as she can. She belongs only to _herself_.

 

 

She’s so tired of hospital gowns with their inadequate coverage and itchy fabric. When Ardelia offers to get clothes from the duplex Clarice agrees as long as she promises to look behind her box of summer clothes. 

 

 

When Clarice is discharged from the hospital she leaves wearing her yellow sundress, holding Barney’s wilting bouquet. Fuck Doctor Lecter’s opinion, she knows it’s cute. Clarice  pauses near the front door to let the bright early spring sunlight warm her face before continuing down the steps.

 

 

She makes a vow to herself as she walks into the hearing, past the other trainees and their curious whispers, head held high. Clarice will find Doctor Lecter and Mr. Graham again, before they have a chance to find her. Whether she can it as an FBI agent or not, there’ll be _hell_ to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading. <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of two bonus chapters. 
> 
>  
> 
> This one is mostly murder husbands fluff :))

The sun is setting in brilliant shades of vermillion and violet as Hannibal sinks deeper into the lavender fragranced bathwater, Will resting content atop his chest. The tub in the room they had booked 100 miles south of the Canadian border was built with one petite person in mind, not two nearly six foot tall men. The fit couldn’t be called comfortable. That said Hannibal didn’t mind being squashed next to Will. In fact, he wouldn’t have traded anything in this world or any beside it for the bliss it brought him. 

 

 

Hannibal breathes in deep and lets the aroma of twenty vastly different scented candles wash over him. Ortensia and vetiver, vanilla and eucalyptus, sandalwood and lily. In a time that felt as distant as a past life he would have balked at the mix. Stuck up his nose and called the mingling tacky. He’s sure he will settle back into that mindset soon enough.

 

 

This evening he is more than grateful to smell something other than the damp rot of his cell and the rotten stench of the unshowered men that populated General Wing. This evening he’s gotten more than he had ever expected and faced no consequence. This evening Will, asleep on his chest is the best scent of all. He would gladly go on oath to say that Will Graham still carries the smell of sundrenched autumn gardens even after two years in the clinical lemony stink of the late Frederick Chilton’s isolation ward.

 

 

Will stirs, tangling his fingers in the hair on Hannibal’s chest. Hair that has gone completely gray since they’d last parted. He begins feeling his way down a scar from the heart surgery Hannibal had undergone the day they’d been captured. 

 

 

“A new scar to acquaint yourself with beloved.” Hannibal whispers. 

 

 

“You would have gotten more if today had gone wrong. We got lucky Hannibal.” Will looks up at him brow furrowed. 

 

 

“It was a tad impulsive.” He admits, shifting so he can press a tender kiss to Wills forehead. 

 

 

“I pushed you to it.” Will reminds him.

 

 

“Yes. But I’ve always been impulsive around you.” 

 

 

“I know.” He grins playfully snaking an arm around Hannibal’s waist. 

 

 

“We will be more careful from now on.” He promises trailing a hand through the remaining bubbles. They’ve been in the bath for nearly an hour. Hannibal’s fingertips have begun to prune. He doesn’t feel like moving just yet.

 

 

”Do you think Bedelia survived?” 

 

 

“It is possible. I would believe if I was told she lived due to the sheer willpower of Clarice Starling.”

 

 

“Darling Starling....” Will mutters. “She’ll be an issue.” 

 

 

“Oh I don’t doubt it.” Hannibal laughs. “Still. One can’t help but be impressed by her resilience.” Will frowns. “Jealous mylimasis? Please don’t be. Clarice is interesting. I’d like to pick her apart. But she is not _you_.”

 

 

“Not jealous.” Will peppers soft kisses to his jawline. “ _Worried_.

 

 

“You needn’t be.” He assures him. “If we are captured again the BSHCI won’t get a third chance to guard us. If the new facility deigns to separate us I have dedided will scream for you until my voice gives. If they do not bring you to me then I will simply have to bite out my own tongue.” 

 

 

“Sounds painful.” Will winces. 

 

 

“And poetic.” Hannibal counters. “Did you dream my love?” 

 

 

“Yeah. Best sleep I’ve had in years.” 

 

 

“What did you see?” 

 

 

“Good things.” He sighs. “Us. In rocking chairs chairs on the porch of a nursing home.” 

 

 

“How wonderful. Though, we’re nowhere near  _that_ old Will.” Hannibal teases. Will grins. There are few things in the world Hannibal enjoys more than knowing he’s the cause of that beautiful smile. He traces the laugh lines by the side of his husbands mouth. He’s missed them.

 

 

“Collagen injections will fix us right up.” Will jokes.

 

 

“Do you like that future dear Will?” He wonders “What do you imagine when you think of us, aging together?” 

 

 

“I’m still working up the courage to let myself imagine. I was scared, when I went to sleep, that I’d wake up back in the asylum. Without you. I never expected to have another chance.” 

 

 

“We are here now. Together.” Hannibal comforts him. “This is real Will. I’m real.”

 

 

He knows what Will’s feeling. It’s been almost two days since they left Bedelia’s house. Hannibal hasn’t slept a wink. They have only been out of each other’s sight only once, when they stopped in Rhode Island for a change of clothes and groceries. Will had gone in the shop alone. His face was the less recognizable of the two, his accent didn’t stick out. Hannibal was the one who had suggested it but he had only been able to keep himself calm by counting the seconds until he came back arms full of Hannibal’s favorite cheeses and a whole roast chicken. One thousand six hundred and twenty seven seconds later.

 

 

”You need to sleep.” Will stands up, water running from his curls down his back. Hannibal watches the droplets as they fall, entirely intoxicated.  “I’ll get us towels.” 

 

 

“You’ve gone without for longer.” Hannibal reminds him as he wraps the towel around his waist. 

 

 

“My sleep schedules fucked. _You_ still need your beauty sleep.” Will leans in to kiss him chaste but tinged with the promise of more. For the next half an hour sleep is the farthest thing from his mind. They find their way unto the suites bed afterwards, still lost in the haze. Neither have bothered to dress.  This time Hannibal is laying on Will’s chest listening to the steady beating of his heart. 

 

 

“We should shower.” Hannibal mutters, making no move to do so. “It would be uncouth to dirty the sheets. Not to mention reckless.” 

 

 

”If we’re found will you scream until they give us conjugal visits?” Will teases. He rests his chin on Hannibal’s head. 

 

 

“Not legal above medium security facilities I’m afraid.” 

 

 

“What next?”

 

 

”Tommorow we need to figure out how to gain acesss my offshore accounts. I’m sure the FBI has found quite a few. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve left some of those they have found open as bait. We’ll need to find someone discreet and a way to withdraw without being tracked. I had contacts in Maine.”

 

 

“Any ballsy enough to work with us now?” 

 

 

“Perhaps. Once we get the money we’ll have new identities drawn up and cross into Canada. From there? I have not planned.” 

 

 

“Let’s brainstorm.” 

 

 

“Our new home must have have high ceilings.” Hannibal proposes. 

 

 

“No artsy glass walls. Privacy for all the terrible things I’m going to do to you.” 

 

 

“Absolutely no basements. Perhaps a wine cellar in our guest house.” 

 

 

“Wide open fields. For the dogs to run.” 

 

 

“You’ll have to grow your pack again..” Hannibal tsks. 

 

 

“So much work.” Will groans. 

 

 

“I think we’ve gotten lazy.” Hannibal pokes at his stomach. He’s still in great shape for a man his age, but there’s no denying the softness in places where none used to be. “Laying around all day _pining_. Drawing portraits and crafting fishing lures.”

 

 

“Stop fussing. You look good with a little weight.” Will grabs his hand and places it on his cheek instead. 

 

 

“You flatter me.” Hannibal pouts  drawing Will in until there’s no way for them to get any closer. They shower together and crawl back into bed wearing the hotels white bathrobes. 

 

 

“Pommery Cuvée Louise.” Will says offhandedly. 

 

 

“Hmm?” 

 

 

“Bedelia had a full bottle of Rosé in her glove compartment.” 

 

 

“Naughty naughty.”

 

 

”I took the liberty of storing it to surprise you with later. Shall we?” Will asks already halfway to the mini fridge.

 

 

“We shall.”

 

 

They spend the rest of the evening in bed passing the bottle between them. At some point Hannibal turns on the rooms televisions and flicks between news channels for their coverage. Most of the major channels keep coming back to a still shot of Clarice Starling and her tear stained face collapsing into Jack Crawford arms. There’s no word on Bedelia.

 

 

“The media has decided to paint her as incompetent.” Hannibal folds his arms irritably. “Public opinion will follow their lead. Which will make it that much harder for our Clarice to get the respect and status she so desperately needs.” 

 

 

“You said it yourself earlier. The woman is resilient. She may care about what other people think but she won’t let that affect her goals.” 

 

 

“Have we talked of roller pidgeons before?” Hannibal asks. They fly very fast and very high, then they tumble back down. There are shallow rollers, and there are deep rollers. You can't breed two deep rollers. The young will roll all the way down hit and die. Clarice is a deep roller, my love. For her sake we will  hope one of her parents was not."

 

 

They switch to more mundane topics then. Discussions of dog names and all the new dishes Hannibal’s read about in his culinary books. They talk late into the night about second chances and the best Canadian furniture brands. Hannibal drifts off with his head tucked in the space between his husbands collarbone and shoulder. 

 

 

When he wakes to the early spring sunshine peeking its way through the half shuttered blinds Will is still lying beside him. Exactly where he is supposed to be. Damned if he’s going to let anyone break them apart again.

 

 

”Mano gyvenimo meilė. Aš esu labiau palaimintas kiekvieną kartą, kai matau jūsų gražų veidą.” Hannibal wakes him. 

 

 

“Well good morning to you too.” Will grins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mano gyvenimo meilė. Aš esu labiau palaimintas kiekvieną kartą, kai matau jūsų gražų veida- Love of my life. I am more blessed each time I see your face.,
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter two! 
> 
> I wanted to sprinkle some Bedelia/Clarice in the main storyline of this fic but I never really found a good spot to fit it in. 
> 
>  
> 
> Bedelia/Clarice content. Not very plot heavy as I planned to have the tenth chapter be the last :))

 

 _Two_ _years_ _later_

 

 

Clarice leans against the side of her van, savoring the rest of her coffee and toast as she looks over the rocky outcrop at waves, turquoise in the sunlight, crashing on the shore below. A woman in a wetsuit pops in the water. The sun is climbing higher into the cloudless Californian sky. From where she stands she can easily see the skyscrapers of San Francisco in the distance. When Clarice finishes her breakfast she enters the vehicle through  the sliding side doors, mindfully delicate with the one that has a tendency to squeal no matter how much they grease it.

 

 

Bedelia is still sleeping on the mattress in the tricked out back, her hair in plastic curlers piled on the pillows while the top of a silk chemise peeks out from underneath the patchwork covers. Clarice tiptoes around the van, prepping the mini coffee maker for another pot to have handy when she wakes. She is struck, not for the first time, at how serene Bedelia looks when she sleeps.

 

 

There was a time, not so long ago,  when she had seen _only_ serenity in Bedelia. Clarice still remembers how perfectly poised the psychiatrist had been when a nervous Clarice was first summoned to Jack Crawford’s office two years ago. She remembers how Bedelia would stalk the halls of Quantico in her polished outfits, the reminder of the physical scars  Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham left on her layed proudly bare. She had never once appeared haughty only righteously confident, a trait Clarice had one day hoped to emulate. 

 

 

It was widely believed among the students at the FBI academy that it was poor Jack Crawford with his infinite guilt at the corruption of the bureau‘s best profiler, and not Doctor Du Maurier and her gleaming prosthetic who was ruined after Lecter and Graham. But Bedelia had been silently suffering for all those years, for a crime she hasn’t fully explained. Even to Clarice, who knows more about her torment than anyone. As a starry eyed trainee she’d idolized Bedelia at a distance for her ironclad sangfroid. Now, Clarice knows her and loves her for all her complexities.

 

 

”Is it time to go?” Bedelia calls from across the camper, gray blue eyes still clouded from sleep.

 

 

”If you want it to be.” She smiles softly, stirring Bedelia’s customary three sugars into her coffee. “It’s just past nine now.”

 

 

Clarice hands her a steaming mug of coffee and a slightly burnt piece of rye toast spread with margarine. They eat in comfortable silence. Bedelia and Clarice don’t always need words, on mornings like these ones. To be in each other’s company is more than enough. She finds the prosthetic and its silicone liner by the side of the bed. She slides the liner unto her upper leg while Bedelia sits above on the bed, taking out  her rollers.  The silicone liner has a pin at the base, Clarice guides the residual limb into the prosthetic and puts pressure on it until she hears the telltale click and lock. The process takes less than a minute. It’s practiced, efficient, as if  she’s done the same thing hundreds of mornings before. And she has. Today Bedelia wants to drive. They pull out of the rest stop and join the stragglers of the work rush headed towards the city. 

 

 

It angered her more than it should have that Mr. Graham was proven right about Crawford’s unnatural capacity for second chances. He had fought for Clarice at her hearing, fought for her harder than he had any obligation to. Paul Krendler from Justice had battled just as hard in the opposite direction.  

 

 

Mr. Krendler was sore, and always would be, that Clarice had found Buffalo Jill instead of him. She can still see him leering at her from across the witness stand. Mr. Krendler was nothing but a shameless climber and he had thrown everything he could at her to make sure she wasn’t able to climb after him. On one memorable occasion he’d pulled out the new Tattlecrime during a recess and flashed the headline in full view of the committee that would decide her fate. Freddy had gone with the secret second lover angle. It was a low point, Clarice had told the people gathered there, for someone as respected as Mr. Krendler to use the shock value of a Tabloid article to try and damage her reputation. 

 

 

Everytime Mr. Krendler got up in her face  Clarice could smell the stink of chewing tobacco on his breath. She couldn’t stop himself from wondering if he chewed it right before the hearing was called to session just to piss her off. He spent most of his  his time repeatedly grilling her about why she’d “let” Doctor Lecter and Mr. Graham leave unchallenged . Clarice had barely managed to remain calm. 

 

 

“Do you think you would have had the nerve to threaten Doctor Lecter with a steak knife Mr. Krendler?” She’d smiled dryly.

 

 

“That wouldn’t have been an issue Trainee Agent Starling. I would have waited for clearance and arrived at the scene with my gun and badge instead of running in half cocked with a kitchen knife stuffed in my _pajamas_.” He’d smirked back.

 

 

Bedelia had sent strongly worded letters to the committee from the comfort of her hospital bed. She talked of Clarice’s bravery and calm negotiation under pressure. Bedelia argued that her conduct with the Lecter-Graham’s had been nothing short of commendable. She was certain that she would have died if Clarice hadn’t arrived when she had. She neglects to mention what Clarice sees as a very important fact, Bedelia hadn’t wanted to live. 

 

 

Clarice thinks she still hadn’t when she  had gone to visit her after the hearing ended without punishment. Without the letters she would have been screwed. She owed Bedelia more than a simple thank you. But she had figured a it would be a good place to start. 

 

 

Bedelia was propped up on pillows reading a paperback and eating from a plate full of what looked suspiciously like Clarice’s liquor chocolates. The dresser across from her bed was crowded with floral arrangements and get well soon messages  sent from concerned colleagues. Without someone to care for them, they were starting to wilt.

 

 

“I’m back at the academy.” Clarice had said, awkwardly perched on the edge of her bed. Bedelia hadn’t said a word since she’d come in. 

 

 

“Becoming an agent is still what you want isn’t it?” Bedelia smiled sadly. “It seemed unfair to let that be ripped away without sharing my experience” 

 

 

“It’s what I’ve always wanted.” Clarice had grabbed her hand on an impulse, squeezing the way she had as Bedelia laid dying in her living room. “They wouldn’t have let me. Not without your letters. Thank you.” 

 

 

“You don’t need to thank me.” Bedelia shook her head and pulled her hand away.

 

 

“Yes I do.” Clarice leaned in and kissed her cheek. Then she left.

 

 

She graduated a few months later, Ardelia by her side. Surrounded by the other trainees Clarice had never felt more distant. Jack Crawford finally retired. Clarice had attended the retirement party. She was the youngest person by twenty years. She ended up  standing in the corner draining most of the fruit punch and waiting for an opportunity to mingle. In the middle of the evening Doctor Lecter had sent a voicemail passing on his regards. Testing every caterers dish for human meat had put a damper on the evening.

 

 

It was her luck that Mr. Krendler was friends with the new head of behavioral science. Togtether they made sure her applications to the department were neatly blocked. For the next year he’d shuttled her off to every political drug raid, had her speak at every shitty press conference. Clarice kept her quiet strength. She’d sat and taken each snide comment each  passive aggressive sexual come on. Then one day she had enough. 

 

 

Clarice had been sitting in Mr. Krendler’s office after being reprimanded for a raid gone wrong when he’d leaned over the desk and asked her out for drinks. She had refused. He called her a cornpone country cunt. She’d slapped him across the face. He’d fallen on his ass and sprained his ankle.

 

 

She left him there on the floor and drove home.  An hour later he had her arrested for assault. Clarice resigned before she could be fired. Her career was over before it begun. Clarice took a week to mourn it, Ardelia hovering outside her door with trays of comfort food and chick flicks. 

 

 

Bedelia still lived in her glass house, at the end of her impossibly long driveway. They had gone to lunch once or twice since her discharge from the hospital. Clarice hadn’t gone back to Bedelia’s home until the second week after she left the FBI. Bedelia  sat in her armchair while Clarice visited though there were to be no more therapy sessions. 

 

 

“What’s the occasion?” 

 

 

“I’m going to find Doctor Lecter and Mr. Graham before they have a chance find me.” Clarice stood above Bedelia. She had refused to sit in the chair opposite her. Too many bad memories. “I’m leaving tonight.” 

 

 

“Will you kill them?” Bedelia had wondered. 

 

 

“Not unless they force my hand. I’m not looking to repeat Muskrat farm.” 

 

 

“Good choice. Although I’m sure the prospect of revenge of a Verger proportion appeals to you.” 

 

 

“It does.” Clarice agreed. 

 

 

“May I join you?” Bedelia sighed sipping from the everpresent wine glass.

 

 

“Of course.” 

 

 

The van had been full to bursting when they had driven off into the night.

 

 

For the first time in her life Clarice has no institution to keep her tethered. It was strange at first going wherever she felt best. It quickly became a cat and mouse game.  Clarice and Bedelia arriving at the scene new murders just as the perpetrators had slipped. The walls of the van looked like a serial killers den. Tips pored in from around the world a few  serious most practical jokes. Lots of people were rooting for the FBI agent and psychiatrist gone rouge. Just as many wanted their blood. They became well known on the fan forums as the two woman team spending their life chasing the Lecter-Grahams’ across the globe. 

 

 

There are nights when both of them lay awake haunted. Unable to think about anything else but ending the hunt, the screams in Clarice’s mind unstoppable. But that is not every night. There are nights spent driving in the desert stars shining brighter than they ever could in the city. There are nights spent dancing to disco in the back of the van. There are rare nights when Clarice brings out the key to the minifridge where she’s hidden Bedelia’s liquor and they drink [in moderation] while watching the sunset.

 

 

And there was a night when Bedelia leaned in and kissed Clarice on the lips. A night where Clarice pulls away, scared at first that Bedelia’s doing this for the wrong reason until she told her that she knows you can’t heal two decades of mental turmoil with a kiss, but it seems like a good place to start. 

 

 

They share experiences that no one else in the world can understand. She holds Bedelia, when the guilt weighs too heavy. Clarice worried at first that once they put Doctor Lecter and Mr. Graham away for good that the bond they’ve formed will dissipate. She doesn’t worry about that much anymore. Because slowly she finds they share much more than a past of manipulation. They drink chia seed smoothies and listen to wellness podcasts as they drive. Clarice teaches Bedelia how to change tires. Bedelia teaches Clarice how to do proper eyeliner. They put time aside each month  to take week long vacations in whatever city strikes their fancy. 

 

 

This time they’ve chosen San Francisco. They’ll catch a cable car to Fisherman’s wharf, eat lunch in Chinatown and. Bedelia deserves to live a life unburdened. Clarice can’t give her that, not yet, maybe not ever. But they can help each other forget, just for a while. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
